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JACK GREGORY 


V 


BOOKS BY WARREN LEE GOSS 


JED. A boy’s adventures in the Civil 
War. 

TOM CLIFTON. A story of adventures 
in Grant’s and Sherman’s armies. 

JACK ALDEN. Adventures in the Vir¬ 
ginia Campaigns. 

IN THE NAVY. A story of naval ad¬ 
ventures during the Civil War. 

JED’S BOY. A story of adventures in 
the World War. 

JACK GREGORY. A boy’s adventures 
in the War of the Revolution. 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL CO. 
NEW YORK 









HE REINED IN HIS HORSE 











JACK GREGORY 

A BOY’S ADVENTURES IN THE 
WAR OF THE REVOLUTION 


BY 

WARREN LEE GOSS 

Author of “Jed,” “Tom Clifton,” “JackAlden,” 
“Jed’s Boy,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 









Copyright, 1923, 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


,RIL 26 ’?3 

©C1A711364 


DEDICATED 
TO MY 

FRIEND AND COMRADE, 
GEORGE I. BUXTON 
NORWALK, 


CONNECTICUT 























V 




PREFACE 


The American Revolution was the most 
momentous event in history; its Declaration of 
Independence is the keynote of liberty; its 
National Constitution a successful experiment 
in making life, liberty, and social advancement 
secure under the influence of laws made by those 
who are to obey them. 

In this story the writer has attempted to re¬ 
invest with life some of the scenes of that period; 
to throw light upon its spectacle without de¬ 
parting from the facts of history. 

That portion of the story which tells of British 
and Tory raids from Long Island upon the de¬ 
fenceless coast of Connecticut culminating in 
the burning of Fairfield and Norwalk by Gen¬ 
eral Tryon, is mostly drawn from a study of the 
town and church records of Norwalk—a patriotic 
town which Bancroft tells us, furnished more 
men in proportion to its people than any other 
of all the colonies. 

The purpose of this book is to teach patriotism 
by calling attention to those times when the 
foundations of this nation were cemented by the 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


blood of its people, in its seven years’ war for in¬ 
dependence. 

In these days when there is a threat to over¬ 
turn orderly liberty, and to place in its stead li¬ 
cense, these lessons from our past seem especially 
needful. 

The writer submits these pages to his readers, 
especially those upon whom rests the future of 
this republic, its boys and girls, with the hope 
that the reading of them may be accompanied 
by the blessings of their father’s God. 

W- L. G. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB 

I 

A Sabbath Day Adventure 





PAOB 

1 

II 

Work and Play . .... 





12 

III 

Threatening Events . w 

r.j 

!•) 

K»J 

1*3 

19 

IV 

Patriots and Tories 


1 •l 

(•i 

r*j 

28 

V 

Leaving Home . . 




i*j 

42 

VI 

Cambridge Green t#J 

r#i 


r*i 

r*i 

51 

VII 

The Battle of Bunker Hill 

. 

• 


[*3 

60 

VIII 

A Mission for Washington 

• 

t.j 

w 

1*3 

68 

IX 

Within the Enemy’s Lines 

•j 

t*» 

.. 

[*i 

79 

X 

I Secretly Visit Cambridge 

.•j 

i»i 

>! 

l*J 

87 

XI 

A Trial and a Duel r . 


i. 

i*a 

(«1 

97 

XII 

The Guns at Dorchester Heights 

•! 

1*3 

106 

XIII 

Homeward Bound m 

r*i 

!•! 

(•J 

1*3 

113 

XIV 

Raided by Tories . 


r*i 

1*3 

!• 

122 

XV 

Off to Join the Army . 



1*) 

.. 

134 

XVI 

The Turmoil of Battle 

IM 

W 



143 

XVII 

The Retreat from Long Island 

• 

1*3 


152 

XVIII 

Spied upon by the Enemy 

mm 

\9i 

(M 

I* 

159 

XIX 

I Become an Aide to Washington 

(•i 

W 

167 

XX 

A Hazardous Adventure 

•- 



:• 

175 

XXI 

A Glorious Adventure of Arms 




184 


|X 




X 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXII 

The Battle of Princeton 

ii 

t*J 


PAGE 

193 

XXIII 

A Change of Scene . 


t*l 

{•> 

200 

XXIV 

The Storm Breaks on Norwalk 


w 

. 211 

XXV 

The Burning of Norwalk 

i«tl 

I<U 

if 

. 221 

XXVI 

The Rescue ... . 

1*1 


1*2 

* 229 

XXVII 

The Mutiny in Camp . 

... 

. 

141 

239 

XXVIII 

Marching to Victory . 





XXIX 

The Surrender at Yorktown 

. 

. 

. 256 

XXX 

And Last . ,. . .. 








ILLUSTRATIONS 

From drawings in color by Howard L. Hastings 
He reined in his horse (170) Frontispiece 

PAGE 

I reached back for a fresh musket 64 

We did not slacken our pace 183 

Then with grating of steel on steel we fought 233 


4k 



JACK GREGORY 


CHAPTER I 


F 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 

[ATHER,” I pleaded, “can I stay at 
home from meeting today?” 

My father threw a huge backlog 
on the flames in order to keep the fire alive until 
our return from the three-hour divine service, 
and then slowly turned to me, and with a sur¬ 
prised, stern look on his face, said: “Want to 
stay away from meeting!” 

“Yes,” I took courage to say, “it is so cold that 
I do nothing but shiver and freeze all the time I 
am there.” 

“My son,” he solemnly replied, “the house of 
the Lord and the service of God is not for com¬ 
fort but for salvation of the wicked; you must 
go to meeting!” 

But though father’s austere reply kept me 
from further words, it did not keep me from fur¬ 
ther thoughts of the cold and tediousness that I 
felt was in store for me at the meeting, herded 
with other youngsters and kept in order by Mr. 


2 


JACK GREGORY 


Betts, the tything man with a big stick. That 
morning my mind was tinged with rebellion and 
turned to thoughts in which Satan was to prove, 
for a time, my master. 

While mother with the help of sister Mary 
cleared the breakfast table, I contemplated the 
long sermon and service ahead without a bit of 
cheerfulness or religious enthusiasm. 

The time of this typical Sabbath occurrence 
was in those Colonial days just preceding the 
Revolution; the place, the New England town 
of Norwalk, Connecticut. My father was proud 
to be descended in this third generation from 
one of the thirty “approved families” that set¬ 
tled in Norwalk, named in the original grant 
made to Rodger Ludlow by the Indian Chief 
Mahackemo and others of his tribe, April 20, 
1640. He was a sturdy descendant of John 
Gregory for whom he was named; and my grand¬ 
father, who died at eighty-six years of age, was 
one of those brave men who fought in the terrible 
King Philip’s War, during which twelve New 
England towns were utterly destroyed and 
scores of women and helpless children perished; 
but the results of which gave peace from future 
Indian wars to the New England colonies. 

The original John Gregory was said to have 
been a younger son of a good family, who, con¬ 
verted to the new religious faith, had notwith- 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 


3 


standing family protests joined that sturdy band 
which for conscience sake had sought new homes 
and religious freedom in the wilderness of Amer¬ 
ica. 

My father was not an ordinary man in either 
appearance or character. He was over six feet 
in height, slow and deliberate in movement and 
with a precision of speech which had a stateliness 
as though inspired by his Bible—the only book 
he read—and in which he was a faithful believer. 

My mother was Mary Fitch, also descended 
from a family famous in the settlement. 

Although I have a just pride in the stalwart 
manhood of my ancestors who had settled the 
wilderness and had fought for its possession with 
savages, I also have no small admiration for that 
intrepid Indian chieftain who, foreseeing that his 
people were about to be driven from the land of 
their birth, formed a league to drive the white 
invaders from their soil. 

I have made mention of this bit of history not 
so much from pride, as because I believe I have 
inherited a love for perilous adventure from my 
forebears. 

As the family proceeded to meeting at the 
sound of the bell, which had but lately taken the 
place of a drum in calling to service, we formed 
in a single file for our march through the snow, 
my father leading, while mother, sister Mary, 


4 


JACK GREGORY 


my rebellious self, and Skip, the dog, brought up 
the rear; for Skip seldom absented himself from 
meeting, but slept peacefully by the side of 
mother’s foot-stove with more comfort, and pos¬ 
sibly quite as much appreciation of the sermon, 
than I. 

I went into the Meeting House—father saw 
to that—and had taken my place near the drafty 
door with the other boys; for the men and 
women, boys and girls, had each separate places 
in meeting in those times. Presently the 
preacher mounted the pulpit and the long service 
began. It would not have been so hard to en¬ 
dure, perhaps, if the room had not been so chilly 
—only a few degrees above freezing point. We 
had risen for prayers when Satan seized me, and 
I slipped behind Mr. Betts’ back, and out of 
the door to freedom. It was cold outside, too, 
but then a boy could jump around and keep 
warm. 

I had not got far when I found that Skip had 
followed me. This was comforting, for sin like 
misery loves company. It was a cold, crisp, 
sunny morning. The snow lay deep on the op¬ 
posing hillsides, between which glistened the 
frozen river, while the more distant harbor with 
its nearby islands and Long Island Sound 
sparkled in the sunlight, like some fairy scene. 
The fleecy clouds, the warming sun, with hills 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 


5 


and woods gleaming in their winter robes of 
whiteness, appealed to me powerfully. Though 
at first I had felt the reproach of conscience and 
a dread of the after account of chastisement, I 
soon forgot to worry in the joy of being out¬ 
doors. 

I had a barrel-stave sled in our cowshed and, 
having got it, began sliding downhill from the 
town house to the frozen river. But as the snow 
was growing soft under the sun’s warmth, I soon 
abandoned this amusement and started off, draw¬ 
ing my sled after me, in search of further ad¬ 
venture. 

How far I ventured into the forest I do not 
know, and gave it little thought at the time; but 
it must have been several miles from the settle¬ 
ment. I had stopped to throw snowballs at the 
chippering squirrels that sported among the 
overhanging branches of the trees, when I heard 
a cry that startled me. 

After listening a moment, I concluded it was 
an owl or the yell of a wild cat, and went on with 
my snowballing; when the outcry was more dis¬ 
tinctly repeated. Skip in advance of me began 
barking furiously. I hurried forward despite a 
shiver of superstitious dread, though it was ap¬ 
parently the call of some person in distress. 

When I got to the spot where Skip was snif¬ 
fing and growling, I found that the cry came 


6 


JACK GREGORY 


from a pit dug to entrap wolves, for which at 
that time a considerable reward was offered. 

I lay on my stomach peering into the pit, and 
saw an Indian boy about my own age, who had 
been entrapped instead of a wolf. To my an¬ 
swering “Hello!” he made some indistinct re¬ 
ply and looked up with a shrinking of distrust, 
as though preferring wolf to a white boy. How¬ 
ever, when I lowered my sled by its stout string 
into the hole and made motions for him to take 
hold, while I pulled him from the pit, he showed 
more confidence. But something seemed to be 
the matter with him, besides fright, and I soon 
saw that he had been hurt; for on holding down 
my hands for his assistance he did not get to his 
feet, but outstretched his arms imploringly. 

Then I threw the sled string to him, which he 
seized and I began vainly tugging to draw him 
out of durance; but only succeeded in tumbling 
head-first into the pit myself. Fortunately, I 
did not hurt the boy, for seeing me coming he 
rolled away from the threatening avalanche; so 
there were two in a hole instead of one. 

I tried to hold counsel with him, but he would 
not or could not talk. Then my forethought 
coming behindhand, I recognized that if I had 
filled up the pit with snow before tumbling into 
it, the problem of getting the young savage out 
of his fix would have been solved. It was too 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 


7 


late, however, to be benefited by an afterthought, 
so I put my wits to work planning his and my 
own rescue. 

Stooping I got the Indian on my shoulders. 
Then I stood up and he clambered to the upper 
ground. Eut instead of throwing in snow, as 
I had motioned for him to do, I was alarmed 
to hear him scrambling off on my sled, that he 
had pulled up after him. 

And there I was, and likely—so it seemed— 
to remain, until some settler should come to the 
pit for a wolf, or some entrapped wolf should 
make a meal of me. It was not until then that 
I began to think that it was a fore-ordained pun¬ 
ishment inflicted for sins committed on the Sab¬ 
bath day. 

I must have remained, contriving and despair¬ 
ing, for over an hour, with both my conscience 
and my predicament troubling me, when I heard 
a distant halloo. It can be believed that I lost 
no time in replying. The call came nearer until 
at last an older Indian appeared and quickly ac¬ 
complished my rescue. 

After being extricated, my conscience, which 
had been in the ascendant, troubled me less than 
hunger. So when the Indian made motions to 
his mouth and said “eat,” I was not long in un¬ 
derstanding that if I accompanied him, my hun¬ 
ger would be satisfied. I was chilled through 


8 


JACK GREGORY; 


and through, and hungry enough to eat the wolf 
for whose reception the pit was intended. 

I accompanied him until we reached a shel¬ 
tered spot where under a big oak was a wigwam 
of skins before which blazed a cheerful fire, and 
where sat the young Indian I had rescued. He 
received me with grateful gestures, and the Eng¬ 
lish word “friend.” He showed me how he had 
reached camp by lying down on my sled, and 
with pieces of stick in either hand propelled him¬ 
self over the snow. 

The interior of the wigwam was made com¬ 
fortable by two bearskins, where I was invited to 
rest until food was prepared by the Indian’s 
squaw. Then I was helped to some broiled ven¬ 
ison and corn-cake, which I thought the most ap¬ 
petizing food I had ever eaten. When I was 
warmed, fed, and rested, after many kind atten¬ 
tions from W'innake—for that was the boy’s 
name—I rose up to start for home; but the In¬ 
dian man informed me by signs and a few Eng¬ 
lish words that the sun had gone down, and the 
darkness would make it difficult for me to find 
my way. Dreading the long journey and other 
disagreeable things which I was willing to post¬ 
pone, I readily consented to remain for the night. 

I awakened from the sleep of a tired boy to 
find a comforting breakfast awaiting me. As 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 9 

I again made ready to depart, the Indian boy 
gave me a pair of beautiful moccasins, and the 
older Indian a buckskin jacket fringed and 
painted. He would take no denial when I tried 
to make him understand that I could not accept 
so valuable a present. 

The Indian man accompanied me until we 
came within sight of the village. Then he took 
leave of me by placing one hand on my breast 
and ejaculating the word, “friends,” and saying: 
“Mohegans never forget.” 

On reaching home I was received as one from 
the dead. My mother and sister were in tears, 
and father with some of his neighbors had been 
searching the woods and river for me. Father 
was still out searching; but as mother was telling 
this to me, he came in. His face lit up joyfully 
when he saw me, and he greeted me warmly. 

“Where have you been, my son?” he asked 
pleasantly. 

When in answer I told him of my adventures 
he seemed so interested that I thought I might 
escape punishment, but after a fervent prayer 
of thanks for my safe return he led the way to 
the barn, where I was faithfully punished, as I 
had anticipated. 

After this he took me to the study of Mr. 
Dickinson, the minister, for instructions or cen- 


10 


JACK GREGORY 


sure, the last of which I dreaded even more than 
the spanking I had received. But my reception 
was different from what I had expected. I 
had never come in near contact with the minister 
before, and, judging him by his stern and vigor¬ 
ous condemnation of sinners from the pulpit, I 
feared the worst. His kind and fatherly man¬ 
ner surprised and impressed me, as he by ques¬ 
tions drew from me the details of my Sabbath¬ 
breaking adventures, during which I told him 
bluntly I had rather be punished in the way I 
had been, than to shiver in the cold through the 
uncomfortable hours of meeting. 

He gravely replied: “There are many un¬ 
comfortable things, my boy, in doing right; but 
the path of righteousness is straight and narrow, 
while the gates of hell are invitingly wide, the 
entrance of which is strewn with flowers, but the 
end of which is eternal death.” 

He uttered a few words of prayer invoking 
God’s blessing on my young head, and then with 
a twinkle in his eyes that almost belied his words, 
he took my hand, patted my shoulder, and with a 
manner different from anything I had before 
known led me to a corner of his study and took 
from the shelves a volume of “Robinson Crusoe.” 
I was soon so deeply interested in the book, that 
I had to be reminded when it was time to go 
home. 


A SABBATH DAY ADVENTURE 


11 


With a benignant smile my host invited me to 
call next day, and finish reading the book. 

It was thus that I formed the acquaintance 
of this truly great man, whose influence affected 
my whole after life and fortunes. 


CHAPTER II 


WORK AND PLAY 

A FTER this I made many visits to Mr. 

Dickinson and his library, for he made 
them interesting by his stories and talk, 
and excited in me a desire to know more than the 
mere lessons he taught. Having a retentive 
memory and great enthusiasm for some branches 
I willingly surrendered my small playtime for 
study. The judicious praise of my master, as 
well as his lucid explanations, encouraged and 
stimulated me with a desire to excel, and helped 
me to form the habits of study and thought. 
His gentleness and charming personality drew 
me to him closer with each day’s association. 
Though his own boys and girls were grown to 
manhood and womanhood, he still was fond of 
youngsters and was so patient with my restless 
disposition that I quickly grew to love him. It 
seems to me, in contemplating that period of 
my life, that the debt I owe him grows larger 
with each passing year. 

My two hours’ daily study and recitation were, 
in some sense, the happiest hours of the day. 

Evenings by the light of a blazing fire, or candle 
12 


WORK AND PLAY 


13 


light, as well as at other times, I studied at home, 
wrote, and drew maps on the birch bark stripped 
from our firewood, for paper was scarce and ex¬ 
pensive, and in any case hard to procure. By 
day as I worked in chopping or hoeing I thought 
over my lessons. 

I had to work; everybody v/orked in those 
times. My mother and sister carded and spun 
yarn, and prepared the flax and wove the cloth 
for our clothing, for cotton cloth and calico were 
at that time as dear as silk, and not easily ob¬ 
tained at any price. They also cut and made the 
garments for the family, as well as preparing 
our food and washing the clothes; so there were 
few idle moments in our household. 

I believe that it was this work that made New 
England strong and self-reliant beyond most 
folks. Work was so ingrained in the habits 
of our people, that idleness, or so-called frivolous 
amusements, were held to be the wicked traps of 
Satan. 

There was one thing we had in plenty at that 
period, and that was plain, nourishing food. 
There was venison and sea fowl and other game 
to be easily had, though powder and shot were 
scarce and expensive. Clams, oysters, and fish 
were plentiful and easily secured. But lux¬ 
uries such as sugar, coffee and tea were almost 
unknown at our tables. 


u 


JACK GREGORY 


We had a flat-bottomed, center-board boat 
which it was a great pleasure for me to sail or 
row; and as father sometimes said, I “was as 
fond of water as a fish.” I was often reproved 
for being more fond of digging clams and catch¬ 
ing fish, than hoeing corn, digging out stumps, 
or weeding the garden. Our boat had a mut¬ 
ton-leg or triangular sail, and I was never so 
happy as when with a stiff breeze and some squid 
for bait I trawled for bluefish or bass. Seated 
on the windward gunwale of my craft, while the 
leeward side dipped the water, catching a blue- 
fish at almost every short tack across the shal¬ 
lows, was exhilarating fun. 

Off the harbor were picturesque islands which 
I sometimes visited, and one small isle I con¬ 
sidered my especial kingdom, and of which in 
imagination I was the Robinson Crusoe. I 
loved to visit this islet which was but a rock cov¬ 
ered with dense foliage, rising abruptly from the 
water on three sides with a good landing place on 
its western flank. It was but a stone’s throw in 
length and breadth, and as compact a piece of 
virgin beauty as is seldom seen. In the summer 
months the wild rose and yellow and blue flowers 
embroidered its green with picturesque vividness, 
which I cannot express in my poor words. Here 
I loved to resort to clean my fish for home use, 
or to wash my clams and oysters. On its highest 


WORK AND PLAY 


15 


parts I could view the town, the harbor, and 
Long Island Sound. 

It was on one of these fishing excursions that 
I formed the acquaintance of Captain Nathan 
Mallory, who sailed a vessel between our port 
and Boston, now and then touching at New Ha¬ 
ven, New London, and other harbors. He 
sometimes bought my fish and oysters and clams, 
paying me in precious articles brought from Bos¬ 
ton or other ports. At times he brought news of 
the doings in Boston, and I was deeply interested 
in the tales of the ports and peoples he had vis¬ 
ited, when in younger years he had sailed on for¬ 
eign voyages. He was as rough as the seas he 
sailed, but his roughness was but the outer coat¬ 
ing of much that was wholesome and manly. 

He often invited me to take a voyage with him, 
and even urged me to become a sailor. 

These trivial things I have mentioned in out¬ 
line, because as you shall see, they had a part in 
more important events in which I was to partici¬ 
pate. 

In one of these water excursions, after catch¬ 
ing an abundant supply of fish I resorted to my 
island to clean them. On landing I was sur¬ 
prised to find a birch-bark canoe on the shore. 
I had not time to explore, and willing to believe 
that I had found a canoe which had drifted in, 
I was in the act of attaching it to my boat, when 


16 


JACK GREGORY 


whiz came an arrow which fixed itself quivering 
in the broad stern of my boat. 

Alarmed, for I had nothing with which to de¬ 
fend myself but an oar, and fearing injury, I 
threw myself in the bottom of my boat. There 
I lay waiting for the supposed enemy to shoot 
one more arrow, when I planned to shove my 
boat away from shore before he could shoot a 
third. 

The second arrow came whizzing by my head, 
and as in former case fixed itself quivering in 
my boat. Concluding that the aggressor was 
a bad marksman, I seized my oar and stood up 
to push off from the shore, when I saw a dark 
face peering from a near-by bush. 

Holding up my hands I called out: “Don’t 
shoot! I don’t want your canoe; come down and 
get her!” Whereupon an Indian with a shout 
of recognition came forward with friendly greet¬ 
ings. It was Winnake, the boy whom I had res¬ 
cued from the wolf pit! 

It was a meeting in which pleasure was mu¬ 
tual. He told me that his father was off hunting 
and fishing, and that this was their rendezvous 
or meeting place. He explained that at first he 
had not known me, and, in any case had not in¬ 
tended to hurt, but to alarm me, so as to prevent 
my taking his canoe. Though this was conveyed 
more by signs than words, I understood. 


WORK AND PLAY 


17 


Then he took me to a secluded hut among the 
rocks and foliage, furnished with skins and a few 
Indian utensils for cooking, which was so con¬ 
cealed that I had not come upon it before, not¬ 
withstanding my frequent visits there. He had 
learned more English words than when I first 
met him, and so we were able to carry on a more 
free conversation. 

I learned that he belonged to a small party 
of friendly Mohegan Indians who were en¬ 
camped not far from Norwalk, and of whom I 
had before heard in connection with their help¬ 
fulness during King Philip’s War. I after¬ 
wards learned that the main tribe was on the 
banks of the Thames River, between Norwich 
and New London. 

We had, as Mr. Dickinson would have called 
it, a “love feast” and another kind of feast of 
fried fish and venison most agreeable to a boy’s 
hungry stomach; and not least was a cool drink 
of water from a tiny spring which came from the 
crevices of the rocks, and which I had not pre¬ 
viously known was to be found there. 

I could not linger longer, so took leave of 
Winnake and left my enchanted island—as I 
called it—with regret. 

On arriving home and telling father about 
Winnake, he said in his slow deliberate manner, 
“I advise you to have little to do with the sav- 


IB 


JACK GREGORY 


ages; though they prove to be faithful and some¬ 
times very useful, still they are heathen even at 
their best.” 

The next day while at Mr. Dickinson’s I con¬ 
fided to him my interest in Winnake, and told 
him of the incident of our meeting. 

He was very much interested. “I do not 
wholly agree with your father,” he commented; 
“for I know of several Indian friendships which 
are very useful and touching. One of them who 
lived in Norwalk helped the apostle Elliot to 
translate the Commandments into the Indian 
dialect.” 

I met Winnake several times after this at the 
island rendezvous; but later he disappeared and 
I did not see him again for months. Then it was 
under conditions which were to test his profes¬ 
sions of friendliness. 


CHAPTER III 


THREATENING EVENTS 

I HAD been three years under the instruc¬ 
tion of Mr. Dickinson, and was sixteen 
years of age, and in mental and physical 
stature a man. My master had often praised 
me for quickness of comprehension and a tena¬ 
cious memory. Father, however, did not look 
with entire favor upon my student life and men¬ 
tal acquisitions, lest they should tend to laziness 
and vanity. 

It is true that I preferred the library of Mr. 
Dickinson to hoeing and digging; and interest¬ 
ing books of travel and adventure, to reading the 
Bible. But I could chop and dig with vigor, 
did not shirk work, and could hold my own with 
grown men. 

My master being told of my father’s remarks 
only smiled benevolently and said: “Your 
father, like many men of his kind, thinks that 
mental labor is laziness. They do not realize 
that it may be harder than mere physical drudg¬ 
ery.” 

At the time in which I write there was much 

19 


20 


JACK GREGORY 


unrest in the colonies. This was especially true 
in New England. The arrogant tone of the 
British Parliament and King, month by month 
stirred up the angry disapproval of the people 
by the infringement of their rights. Thought¬ 
ful men in all the colonies were largely agreed 
that their continuance would result in open re¬ 
bellion. The Stamp Act, which was passed by 
Parliament, assumed the right to tax the colo¬ 
nies; but was strongly resented as an infringe¬ 
ment of privileges conferred by the English con¬ 
stitution. The people claimed that by resist¬ 
ance to these acts they were upholding the Eng¬ 
lishman’s right to a voice in taxation; and “taxa¬ 
tion without representation” was the direct cause 
of the Revolution. 

My master was a keen observer of events and 
an ardent advocate of colonial rights. He saw 
.the inevitable tendencies of British assumptions; 
and though he professed to be loyal to the King, 
he denied his right to tax the American depend¬ 
encies. This feeling of resistance was constantly 
increasing in bitterness among all the people 
from Massachusetts to Georgia. 

Public sentiment among us and in other col¬ 
onies was such that every act of resistance 
against British authority, if not openly ap¬ 
plauded, was tacitly agreed with. When the tid¬ 
ings of the destruction of cargoes of tea by citi- 


THREATENING EVENTS 


21 


zens of Boston came to us, it was generally com¬ 
mended in our town, as well as throughout the 
country. 

Nevertheless there were many whd favored 
the Crown. Reverend Mr. Learning, of the 
English Church, and some of his people, took 
sides with the Parliament and prayed and 
preached against the wickedness of resisting the 
King and his government. 

Later, much was made of the so-called Boston 
massacre, in which several citizens were killed in 
a street brawl by British soldiers. When the 
news of this affair reached us, it added to the 
bitter resentment felt by our people. There 
could hardly be a gathering of any kind in Nor¬ 
walk, at that time, when thes'e things were not 
angrily discussed. 

Among my duties to Mr. Dickinson was the 
carrying of notices and messages. Vehicles had 
but lately been introduced in our colony, and my 
master on account of age and growing infirmities 
now used a chaise when making his parochial vis¬ 
its. The saddle horse which he had formerly 
used was put to my use in doing errands, and it 
is needless to say I enjoyed the riding as most 
boys would under similar conditions, and often 
rode by the most circuitous routes in conveying 
messages. 

“John,” said Mr. Dickinson one afternoon, 


22 


JACK GREGORY 


“saddle Betty, and ride to Mr. Arnold’s tavern 
with a message for me.” 

On arriving at the inn I was told that Mr. 
Arnold was out, but would soon return. Jean 
Jauhaux, a little Frenchman, who was Mr. Ar¬ 
nold’s man of all work, was waiting on customers 
in the public room. 

As I waited there for Mr. Arnold to return, 
a young British officer alighted from his horse 
and came in swinging a small riding whip. 

I had been taught to regard the wearing of 
fine dress as unmanly; but secretly admired not 
only the officer’s brilliant uniform and equip¬ 
ments, but graceful carriage and ease of manner. 
Then my attention was turned to other interest¬ 
ing arrivals, and like most boys I watched curi¬ 
ously their speech and actions. I was growing 
impatient with waiting when my notice was 
again drawn to the young officer, by his sharp 
and angry words. He was addressing a placid 
and dignified gentleman who had but lately come 
to the public room. 

“You who utter such disloyal sentiments,” he 
cried, “are traitors and rebels against the King.” 

To this outburst the citizen replied calmly: 
“The sentiment that taxation without represen¬ 
tation is tyranny is an English sentiment, older 
than- King George, and more loyal to English 
principles than those who oppose them.” And 


THREATENING EVENTS 


23 


then, courteously excusing himself he retired 
with other gentlemen of his party from the room. 

But the young officer was angry and contin¬ 
ued to exclaim against such* opinions, after the 
other had gone. 

“Men who talk like that,” he declaimed, “will, 
if they continue it, have to deal with sword and 
cannon!” 

“By gar!” exclaimed the little Frenchman, 
Jean, “You tries that and you gets a”—with a 
motion of his hand indicating a blow. 

“Yes!” I saucily cried. “You will find that 
two can play at that game!” 

The enraged officer turned upon me and cry¬ 
ing, “You young rebel cur!” struck me a sharp 
blow with his whip. 

He was about to repeat the blow when I 
caught the descending whip, and by a quick mo¬ 
tion wrested it from his grasp. 

The officer made a motion to his sword, and 
had half drawn it from its scabbard, when Mr. 
Arnold, who had just come in, stepped between 
us saying, “Stop this, I allow no brawls in my 
house!” 

Jean pushed me into his kitchen where a black 
slave was at work, and looking me over from head 
to foot with approval, and feeling of my arms 
and wrists, said as though thinking aloud: “By 
gar!—you fine! Goot arms, goot legs and back, 


24 


JACK GREGORY 


and quick as ze—what you call heem—dunder- 
bolt! You makes a swordsman!” 

He was interrupted by Mr. Arnold to whom I 
then delivered my message. He bade me thank 
my master and then said, “Young man, mind the 
slack of your jaw, or some of these days you will 
get a broken head.” 

I was about to leave not a little humiliated, 
when Jean once more accosted me with two 
sword-like, glistening instruments in his hands, 
which he told me were for fencing. He wanted 
to begin teaching me then and there. 

“Jean,” said Mr. Arnold gruffly, “is an old 
French soldier and fencing master. He is crazy 
to show some one else how to use them toad- 
stickers.” 

“Ah!” cried Jean. “He do good at it; he so 
quick as ze lightning!” 

In reply to Jean’s offer, I said that I could 
give no answer about learning to fence, without 
first consulting my father and Mr. Dickinson; 
and though I would like it, I did not think that 
either would consent. 

When I returned to Mr. Dickinson’s study 
and told him about my encounter with the British 
officer, and then about Jean’s offer he reproved 
me by saying, “You were in the wrong, John, 
and deserved the punishment he threatened. It 
is a breach of good manners for any one *to in- 


THREATENING EVENTS 


25 


trude his remarks into conversation of older peo¬ 
ple when not personally addressed.” 

When, however, I had told him of Jean’s of¬ 
fer to teach me sword exercise, he surprised me 
by replying emphatically, “I advise you to ac¬ 
cept. It is a gentlemanly acquirement and a 
chance that you may never have again. There 
is no practice that so disciplines the arm and eye, 
or that gives a finer personal carriage.” 

“But my father would not agree to it,” I said; 
“he thinks such things vain and wickedly use¬ 
less!” 

“I will talk to your father,” he replied. “We 
are on the very threshold of a war. In the pres¬ 
ent irritable state of the public, every unjust 
assertion of the British government creates anger 
and alarm, and mupt inevitably lead to resist¬ 
ance. Every patriot must learn the use of 
arms. I know Jauhaux,” he continued, “is an 
old French soldier and, though he does menial 
duty now, he is a gentleman, and you can learn 
many things from him that will be of use to you.” 

“Jesus tells us,” I said slyly, “and the Quakers 
teach it too, that we must not resist evil.” 

“John!” he said sharply, “you are too fond of 
making flippant remarks. The Master’s words 
were not meant to be of general application. 
We must resist tyranny or there will be no lib¬ 
erty.” 


26 


JACK GREGORY 


Through my master’s influence I gained my 
father’s consent to taking sword lessons from 
Jean Jauhaux; for though father was prejudiced 
against “vain and ungodly things,” his own 
father’s experience in King Philip’s War had 
taught him the necessity of discipline and a 
knowledge of weapons. 

So I began my lessons, at first with indifferent 
interest; but before long grew to love the prac¬ 
tice and could not get enough of it. I had to 
my advantage a natural quickness of eye and 
steadiness of nerve, and was seldom taken off my 
guard. After a year’s time—though my prac¬ 
tice was by no means regular—it required all the 
skill of my teacher to defeat me. 

In summer time we often practiced out of 
doors in the level back-yard, and sometimes had 
an assembly of curious lookers-on. At one of 
these times I noticed a new face among them. 
It was that of a girl about fifteen years of age. 
She was slender and graceful, with eyes set un¬ 
der a broad, fair forehead, grave and unsmiling, 
a chin more prominent than beauty demanded, 
a perfect mouth curved like a bow, and hair 
of bronze framing a face which had a touch 
of haughtiness and reserve, yet sweet and 
womanly. I learned later that she was Emily 
Hoyt, the daughter of a well-known citizen. 

Though unknown then to me, I turned after 


THREATENING EVENTS 


27 


a particularly spirited set-to, and presumptu¬ 
ously saluted her with my foil, as if to ask, “How 
do you like it?” 

For reply to my salute she shrugged her shoul¬ 
der and turned her back. It was a well deserved 
snub that taught me a lesson. I began then to 
recognize that with bare feet and ill-fitting gar¬ 
ments, I did not make an interesting appear¬ 
ance even though I might be a skilled swords¬ 
man ; and was thereafter more careful about my 
personal attire. 


CHAPTER IV 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 
T seventeen, my master deemed me fitted 



to enter Yale College. I was fairly 


jL JL well read in history, and was considered 
unusually good in higher mathematics. I had 
read Cicero and Csesar’s Commentaries. Of 
the latter I was especially fond, as it told of 
war and action, while Cicero reminded me of 
the long sermons, for which I had not overcome 
my dislike. While my master desired me to 
have the benefit of the higher education, he 
agreed with father that the times were too 
troublesome to make a start. 

At that time everything wore a portentous as¬ 
pect. The people were becoming daily more ex¬ 
cited, and the English officials were correspond¬ 
ingly irritated and alarmed. 

The British House of Commons had been dis¬ 
solved, and on opening a new Parliament the 
King’s speech related chiefly to the insubordina¬ 
tion in the Colonies, and concluded by express¬ 
ing his determination to maintain his authority 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 


29 


over them. Every attempt at reconciliation was 
spurned and every petition of the colonies re¬ 
jected. 

The sentiments of our people were such, mean¬ 
while, that without the abandonment of British 
claims perhaps no human prudence could have 
long prevented an open outbreak. 

Our town was torn by two hostile factions— 
Tory agreement with British claims, and patriot 
resentment against their tyranny. Reverend 
Mr. Learning preached and prayed obedience to 
the King, and led in the sentiment that the King 
could do no wrong. He even proclaimed from 
his pulpit that obedience to the King and Parlia- 
ment were obedience to God. 

Though Mr. Dickinson was now too old and 
feeble to preach, it was well known that he agreed 
with the opposite sentiment that, “resistance to 
tyranny was obedience to God.” 

The Tory element was, however, from the first 
but small. It was composed of those who really 
believed in the divine right of the King to govern, 
and the duty of the people to obey without ques¬ 
tion; and another class who sought office or were 
trying to secure an advantage by being—as they 
believed—on the winning side. The Tories held 
secret meetings and used their influence to gain 
adherents to the royal cause, using their social 
prestige to that end. I among others felt the 


30 


JACK GREGORY 


sinister influences that were trying to sway pub¬ 
lic sentiment in our village. 

Since my first encounter with the disdainful 
Miss Hoyt I had improved my dress by a new 
suit with knee-buckles and other adornments, 
and was in my own opinion well-dressed if not a 
beau. Thanks to my two masters—the one 
spiritual and the other martial—I had grown out 
of the awkward age and had a fair presence in 
social gatherings. I found that men much older 
than I listened to my opinions. But I was still 
somewhat bashful. I was invited to visit people 
of social grade perhaps above that of my family, 
who made no pretense to worldly vanities. 

On one such occasion I accepted an invitation 
to an evening at Mr. Learning’s. I am now con¬ 
vinced that he invited me only to win me over to 
the Royalist side. Most of the little group I 
knew, and all of them were Tories. 

There was one young woman, however, whom 
I knew only by sight—and as I saw her again 
my blood surged to my temples. Emily Hoyt, 
for it was she, had been away from home at 
school, and I could not flatter myself that she 
would remember me. On second thought I 
hoped she had not recalled the gawky youth who 
had saluted her without an introduction. 

If she did recall the incident she gave no sign. 
Now she curtsied gracefully as I was presented, 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 


31 


and we were presently chatting like old friends. 
I was amazed to hear my own voice telling her 
of my favorite books and studies, for I was com¬ 
monly diffident with girls. When my sister 
Mary had guests I usually beat a retreat. Em¬ 
ily, however, had a quiet way of putting one at 
his ease; nor did she display the hauteur I had 
witnessed at our first meeting. 

We carefully avoided talking politics—as did 
others during the first part of the evening. 

Mr. Learning was especially cordial to me and 
referred in gracious words to my scholarly repu¬ 
tation. His son Robert and I were acquainted, 
but were not on good terms with each other; we 
seemed to rub each other the wrong way—and 
tonight was no exception. When refreshments 
were served I found myself—possibly by acci¬ 
dent—opposite Robert and by the side of Miss 
Hoyt at the table. Young Learning was dis¬ 
agreeable ; I could not speak to Emily Hoyt or 
she to me, without an angry look from him. He 
seemed to regard the girl as his special charge. 
Two or three times he cut into our conversation 
and tried to direct it into his own channels. 

The table talk was on general subjects, but 
gradually drifted to colonial policies. I checked 
my inclination to take a part in this conversation, 
for I was the guest of a Tory and felt that I 
could not express my sentiments there, though 


32 


JACK GREGORY 


Robert Learning’s Tory sentiments angered me. 

Some light wine being served, the host with 
charming reference to those present, raised his 
glass saying: “Here’s to our guests; may we 
often meet again.” 

I raised my glass and touched Miss Hoyt’s 
lightly, but did not taste—for I did not drink 
wines—and applauded the toast with the other 
guests. 

Bob’s insulting reference to rebels during the 
evening had annoyed me, as he doubtless in¬ 
tended that it should. But I had kept silent 
because I was a guest. I had learned a lot since 
that day in Mr. Arnold’s tavern. But the young 
man seemed determined to draw my fire. 

His face was flushed as he rose and with his 
glass held above his head exclaimed, “Here is a 
toast that all must drink: To our King; confu¬ 
sion to his enemies and obedience to his rule!” 

I found myself seated, while the rest of the 
company were standing and drinking. 

“Why don’t you rise with the others?” asked 
Bob angrily. “Is not our gracious King good 
enough for you?” 

Miss Hoyt leaned over and said softly: “Af¬ 
ter all, he is our King; you do not commit your¬ 
self to agreeing with his acts by rising.” 

“I do not like the sentiment,” I replied ob¬ 
stinately, “and am no hypocrite.” 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 


33 


The incident was not pressed farther, and as 
the party was breaking up, Mr. Learning came to 
me and said: “I am sorry that you have been 
annoyed by Robert’s rudeness. I do not want 
any guest in my house to be offended. But why 
can’t you join us in honoring your king?” 

“I can not agree with such sentiments,” I re¬ 
plied; “I am a patriot, and will not change my 
opinions to suit my company. Nevertheless, I 
must apologize on my part to you, if I seemed 
rude.” 

We shook hands at this, and I cannot help but 
think that he respected me the more for stick¬ 
ing by my colors. But on my way home I 
wondered if I hadn’t seemed boorish in Miss 
Hoyt’s eyes. 

Meanwhile, events were moving faster than 
any of us realized for an open revolt on the part 
of the colonies. Rumors of all kinds—perhaps 
purposely circulated—inflamed the people. Mas¬ 
sachusetts where the first outbreaks occurred re¬ 
ceived assurance from sister colonies, that if 
armed attempts should be made to compel them 
to surrender their rights, several thousand men 
were ready to march to their assistance. 

In all this the large majority of our citizens 
were in agreement. General Putnam advised 
the beginning of military training throughout 
Connecticut, and six thousand men were voted by 


34* 


JACK GREGORY 


its General Assembly for the defence of its 
rights. Training camps were established in the 
towns and villages, and instruction in military 
art was pursued with an enthusiasm that put to 
shame present-day military musters. 

In our town, in order not to be behind in acts 
of sympathy and help with Boston, a meeting 
was held to receive donations for those impover¬ 
ished by shutting out trade from Boston harbor. 
At the same meeting, a committee of inspection 
was appointed to ascertain what arms were avail¬ 
able. A company of Minute Men was organized, 
which I joined for instruction, and was later 
made a sergeant. 

Our headquarters was at the Town House and 
the drilling ground was on the lower level land. 
Every other day, but Sunday, several hours were 
devoted to drill. Unaccustomed to military dis¬ 
cipline, I with other young men fretted not a 
little at its restrictions, and regarded much that 
was taught by Eliphalet Lockwood, the drill- 
master, as needlessly fussy and unnecessary, as 
no doubt young soldiers have regarded drill from 
the time when soldiering first began. Study and 
thought, however, soon convinced me of its ne¬ 
cessity; but not so with most of my mates. 

“I think,” complained Bill Saunders, when 
permission to leave the ranks during drill was 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 35 

denied him, “that we are under worse rule than 
British tyranny.” 

“If every one left the ranks when he chose,” 
retorted drill-master Lockwood, “there would be 
no one here to drill.” 

“Well,” growled Bill, “wouldn’t it be a good 
idea to put it to vote?” 

“Suppose the British were on us, and we 
should stop to vote?” 

There was a general laugh at this, for it ex¬ 
posed the absurdity of Bill’s remarks. 

“Well,” he persisted, “isn’t it nonsense to tell 
us to ‘cock your firelock,’ or ‘look to your prim¬ 
ing,’ just as though we didn’t know how to fire 
a gun?” 

This was the same spirit which Washington 
and his aides found so hard to overcome all 
through the War. The men were willing to fight 
—but they wanted to fight their own way! 

Early in the spring of 1775 it was known 
that an army of Continentals was gathering near 
Boston, and a clash with British troops was im¬ 
minent. How these rumors came and by whom 
they were circulated I do not know, but they 
were generally accepted as true. In trouble¬ 
some times there are unexplained and almost 
magical ways of communication. 

I was tired of drilling and impatient to take 


36 


JACK GREGORY 


part in a battle for American rights. Mr. Dick¬ 
inson and my father were both in sympathy with 
my desire to get to Boston. Father had re¬ 
cently received a letter from a Norwich cousin 
telling him of a company formed there, which 
was getting ready to march whenever tidings 
should tell of their need. So I bluntly told our 
drill-master, one day, that I was going over 
there. 

I had interviewed my friend Captain Mallory 
w T ho had arrived at the landing, and he agreed 
to take me as far as New London. He was to 
sail on the following Monday, three days from 
the time when I had reached a decision. 

I had not seen Mr. Dickinson for several 
weeks, as I was occupied in drill, when not hard 
at work for father, in spring plowing and other 
farm work. I was therefore surprised to see 
how feeble he had grown. His trembling hands 
and unsteady groping step, his venerable locks, 
all revealed his failing strength, as he greeted me 
with extended hand. 

“What is it, my boy?” he questioned, and his 
eye grew brighter as he greeted me. 

“I am going to Boston, and have come to say 
good-bye,” I replied. “I am going to Norwich 
first and don’t know how I shall get the rest of 
the way; but I am going!” 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 37 

“That’s the spirit. Jack,” he said. “We must 
make quick decisions in these fateful times.” 

“How will it all end?” I interrogated. “I 
have heard you say that Britain is the greatest 
power on earth. How can we contend against 
her with success?” 

“England,” he replied, “is only great when she 
is right. Many of her public men and citizens 
are in sympathy with us and see that the princi¬ 
ples for which we contend concern them no less 
than ourselves. Our strength is in the right¬ 
eousness of our cause.” And then with a far-off 
look he slowly added: “Independence and lib¬ 
erty—a nation of freemen!” 

Arousing himself from this prophetic mood 
and placing his trembling hands around me, he 
gave me his parting blessing. “God bless you 
John: If He is for us, who shall prevail against 
us!” 

Then I took leave of mother and sister, and 
father accompanied me to the road. I can see 
him now as I write: mouth straight and severe, 
eyes calm, with dogged decision in every line of 
his face; his large frame and something of dis¬ 
tinction in the head and tall, stooping shoulders, 
—all proclaimed the man. And yet there was 
looking out from all these set lines an expression 
of kindliness and a gleam of humor. 


38 


JACK GREGORY 


“Don’t forget your duty to God and your 
country, John. Never forget that Providence 
will remember you in all you do.” 

“I am sometimes afraid,” I replied flippantly, 
“that it will.” 

“Jack!” sternly reproved father, “Solomon 
said, ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ and at 
times I fear that I have not been faithful to 
you.” 

“Don’t let your conscience trouble you about 
that, father; I feel more than satisfied.” 

A smile slowly broke over his rugged face, as 
he hesitated as though inclined to reprove. 
Then with hands on my head he said reverently: 
“On the whole, John, you have been a good son. 
May God bless you and keep you in His holy 
care”—then went up the lane to the house with¬ 
out looking back again. 

When I turned away with my heavy pack upon 
my shoulders, all at once, in spite of my facetious¬ 
ness with father, my heart seemed heavier than 
my pack. 

I called on my way to see Jean Jauhaux and 
Mr. Arnold. 

“Just one leetle bout!” pleaded Jean as he 
brought out the foils. I yielded to his pleadings 
—though I had but little time—and we took our 
positions and saluted, for Jean exacted these 
formalities at every lesson. 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 


39 


“Do your best,” he commanded; “I like to see 
you goot as I think: On guard!” So at it we 
went with parry and thrust, a clash of steel and 
the sparks flying from contact with metal. 

I touched him twice to his once; for my reach 
was longer and action quicker, if not so skilful 
as his. At last by a subtle movement of fingers 
and wrist that he had taught me, by a vigorous 
parade, his foil went flying into the near-by 
gooseberry bushes. For the first time in all my 
practice I had disarmed him. 

For a moment he stood as though angry and 
surprised; then throwing up both hands, he cried: 
“By gar! you beats your teacher! You quick as 
ze lightnin’. Mon Dieu! You—what you call 
heem— great!” Then he threw his arms around 
me and kissed me on either cheek! 

Turning quickly he plunged into the inn and 
reappeared with a package wrapped in many pa¬ 
pers which, unrolled, displayed a sword. It was 
—so its inscription informed—“presented to him 
by his affectionate pupils” in France. 

“I give it you,” he said. 

“I am going away,” I excused, “and have no 
place to keep so beautiful a present”; for I felt 
that I must not accept so precious a weapon 
even from Jean Jauhaux. 

“It is yours!” he insisted. “You are ze finest 
swordsman in—in Norwalk!” 


40 


JACK GREGORY 


We both laughed at this, and I heard another 
ripple of laughter which made me turn quickly. 

While our foils had been clashing back and 
forth, a few idle spectators had drawn near, as 
always; for the fame of our fencing bouts was 
general in the village. But we had been so en¬ 
grossed that we paid no heed to the onlookers. 
Once I heard the sound of wheels as a light chaise 
drew near, but had paid no further heed. 

Now I turned, as this beautiful sword was pre¬ 
sented to me, and was amazed to see the smiling 
eyes of Emily Hoyt. She had quietly driven up 
with Bob Learning, and I was thrilled to see what 
I fancied to be a look of approval in her face; 
although Bob was black as a thundercloud. 

Taking the beautiful sword, I saluted the laugh¬ 
ing girl, just as I had done on a former occasion. 

“Miss Hoyt,” I said, surprised at my own 
boldness, “may I give you the first salute, with 
this handsome sword?” 

“You may, if you do not think your country 
needs it more,” she replied banteringly. 

“Come, let us drive on,” growled Bob. “This 
is child’s play. Wait till you see the English 
officers fence!” 

He was about to give his horse the reins, when 
the girl restrained him by a touch. On my part 
I gave no heed to his ill humor. 

“My country will probably need my sword 


PATRIOTS AND TORIES 


41 


—and soon,” I answered her gravely. “In fact, 
I am going away today—” 

She turned suddenly and looked at me. “To 
the service?” she asked. 

“Yes,” I answered resolutely; “the service of 
my country—and yours.” 

“Service of treason!” sneered Learning. 

Another inspiration came to me, and still un¬ 
mindful of Bob, I bowed low to her and pre¬ 
sented my sword, with hilt toward her. 

“Miss Hoyt,” I asked, “will you do me a per¬ 
sonal favor? I am going away into troublous 
times. Will you keep this sword for me against 
my return?” 

“The sword of a rebel?” threatened Bob. 

Emily turned on him like a flash. “I am the 
best judge of whether he is rebel—or—or pa¬ 
triot,” she countered. Then to me: “Yes, I 
shall be glad—honored to keep your sword for 
you—Jack,” she said. 


CHAPTER V 


LEAVING HOME 

B EFORE leaving home I had thought my¬ 
self tired of it, and wanted to see the 
world. When, however, the shores of 
Norwalk faded from my view in the hazy dis¬ 
tance, the realization came that I was leaving all 
that was dear to me, and with a feeling of fore¬ 
boding I wondered if I should ever see the dear 
faces of home, and its scenes again. Such are 
the contradictory sentiments of youth, that I 
would have willingly changed from ship to shore. 

A fair wind, and a favoring breeze, which 
threatened to become a storm, carried our little 
craft quickly on her way. But once out on open 
water I began to have sensations I had never 
felt in my boat. What was the matter with 
me? There was an agitation of my stomach, 
which sent a dizziness to my head, which again 
reacted on my stomach, until the thought of food 
was nauseating; a distaste not only for food, but 
almost for life itself. I was dreadfully seasick! 

The next morning found me still sick in New 
London harbor, close to the blessed land, and al- 

42 


LEAVING HOME 


43 


most under the protecting shadows of Groton 
Heights. Not stopping for breakfast—for 
which there was no appetite—I bade Captain 
Mallory and his unstable craft good-bye, and 
scrambled to the beloved land which rocked 
and heaved, almost, so it seemed to me, as badly 
as the seas of Long Island Sound. 

“Good luck, and good-bye to you!” called out 
the Captain, adding, “We shall be here a couple 
of days loading salt fish, and if you want to go 
home, meanwhile, I’ll give you free passage.” 

I thanked him for this generous offer, but 
mentally resolved that I would walk first. 

Leaving the wide square near the wharf and 
entering the river road I summoned a council of 
my wits, as to means for a campaign. I had in 
money two pounds and six shillings; was still 
uncertain about my health; but the beloved land 
under my feet renewed confidence in myself, and 
I started out with more zest, when a young fel¬ 
low seated on a stump by the side of the road 
hailed me. 

“Where be you goin’?” 

“Going to Norwich,” I replied. 

“I’m goin’ there myself,” he said; “an’ if it’s 
just the same to you. I’ll go along with you.” 
And without further ado he joined me. 

He was lean, long, and angular in face and per¬ 
son. For luggage he had a handkerchief bun- 


44 


JACK GREGORY 


die on the end of a long stick thrown over his 
bony but sinewy shoulder. He looked as if he 
could stand—and had stood—hard wear; as I 
afterwards learned to be true. 

“Wall,” he said with a nasal drawl, “it’s a 
darned muddy road—’bout as deep as ’tis broad. 
That’s a big hump of a pack you’ve got.” Then 
after another quick survey of me, he added: 
“Guess you can weather it with them shoulders 
and legs.” 

I was not much inclined to chum in with him 
on so short an acquaintance; but he talked about 
his affairs and folks as though he had known me 
a lifetime. 

“I live,” he said, “in Lyme; tired of the old 
place—nothin’ goin’ on thar, ’cept fishin’ and dig- 
gin’. I am fer Norwich—got an aunt thar, an’ 
thar’s somethin’ doin’ fer Job Tucker—that’s my 
name—an’ thar’s plenty of doin’s, an’ money for 
your work.” 

As we plodded on I began to grow desper¬ 
ately hungry and regretted I had eaten no break¬ 
fast; and told Job so. He produced from his 
jacket pocket four big slices of bread and but¬ 
ter, and we sat down and ate them—I three slices, 
and he one. And I thought it generous in him to 
allow it. But it certainly tasted good, and my 
heart began to warm up to Job. 

About noon we came in sight of some wig- 


LEAVING HOME 


45 


warns and cabins. “Lot’s of Injuns thar,” said 
Job, with a motion of his head. 

“Let’s see if we can get something to eat,” I 
suggested. 

“Sho!” ejaculated Job, “we don’t want to eat 
with them nasty Mohegans.” 

“I have two friends that are Mohegans and 
they are as neat as anybody. I haven’t seen them 
for a good while; perhaps they are there now.” 

So we stopped to inquire about Winnake and 
his father. None of the Indians knew where 
they were, though all knew them. But they 
were friendly and one of them offered to show us 
a trail to shorten our way to Norwich. We 
were glad to accept. 

On resuming our walk, Job offered to “spell” 
me in carrying my pack, and I was too tired and 
lame to object. So we went on our way for a 
while with our burdens exchanged, he carrying 
my pack and I his bundle and stick, and my 
musket. 

We moved through the balm-scented woods by 
an Indian trail thus avoiding the distance “up 
and down in the mud,” as Job said, “if not hori¬ 
zontally. A canoe trip across a broad cove and 
another Indian trail still further shortened the 
distance and brought us to the Chelsea Landing 
at Norwich, about four o’clock that afternoon. 
Here I engaged supper and lodging at the home 


46 


JACK GREGORY 


of Job’s aunt, and, refreshed by a good wash, 
felt like my old self again. 

I was early to bed and early up next morning. 
I brushed and smoothed out my best suit, dressed, 
and then started to deliver my letters of intro¬ 
duction; one from mother to her cousin Josiah 
Fitch, and another to Colonel Huntington, the 
most influential person of the town. 

“I was hoping,” I explained to Colonel Hunt¬ 
ington, “that I might be of assistance in case of 
war, and have come at the advice of Mr. Dick¬ 
inson to offer myself as a soldier.” 

“We are hurrying preparations,” he answered 
after greeting me, “for a possible alarm, and our 
enthusiastic young men are already equipped to 
answer the call at the first musket shot. They 
can’t be kept back. Have you had any train- 
ing?” 

I told him what I had done, and he nodded 
his head without comment. I was much 
impressed with the Colonel. His manner, simple 
and without pretense, showed how a great man 
may condescend without loss of dignity or invit¬ 
ing familiarity. 

“There are some of our young men, whom I 
would like you to meet,” he finally remarked, and 
invited me to dinner the next day for that pur¬ 
pose. 

My cousin, Josiah Fitch, seemed older than I 


LEAVING HOME 


47 


had expected. He was about fifty, and as full 
of good nature as he was of years. 

“Where’s your luggage?” he inquired, and be¬ 
ing told, sent his man to bring it to the house; 
adding, “You must make my house your home 
while in Norwich.” 

When I told him of the purpose of my visit he 
was delighted. “I am getting a nation old,” he 
explained, “but feel like taking down my old 
shot-gun and starting for Boston myself.” 

“That’s the way I feel,” I said. “I am told 
that Captain Israel Putnam is training a big 
company at Pomfret and expects to lead them, 
if there is a fight.” 

“Oh yes,” he replied, but with something in his 
voice and manner which reflected a lack of my 
own enthusiasm for that old soldier. “Old Put 
means well, and is impetuous as a boy and as 
reckless as a pirate! But we need cool heads in 
these times.” 

The dinner at Colonel Huntington’s was, for 
me, a great occasion. The party consisted of 
my host, his wife, an attractive niece, and the 
three young men I had been invited to meet. 
The display of silver and glass on the broad ma¬ 
hogany dining-table, the glittering brass and¬ 
irons and candlesticks, and the changing bril¬ 
liancy of the iridescent chandelier; the stately 
room with its polished panels and furniture—all 


48 


JACK GREGORY 


greatly impressed me, as did the company. In¬ 
wardly I blessed my education and soldierly 
training, which had left me not too much of a 
gawk. 

The next day there was a parade and evolu¬ 
tions of the “trained band” at the Chelsea Pa¬ 
rade grounds, at which I was a guest. That 
evening I again met the three young men of the 
Colonel’s party, and we arranged another social 
meeting. One of these was Captain Nathan 
Bishop, another George Farnsworth, and the 
third William Lothrop, and all three later dis¬ 
tinguished themselves in the service. I enjoyed 
their society, for they were above the average I 
had met, in both education and breeding. But 
before our friendship progressed far there oc¬ 
curred events which prevented formal meeting, 
but which drew us together in closer ties than 
mere social ones. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon of the 
20th of April there arrived at the parade ground, 
where the company in which I had enlisted was 
training, a horseman excitedly waving a paper, 
his steed covered with dust and flecked with foam. 
He had ridden hard all day bearing the news of 
the fighting at Concord and Lexington. The 
first blow had been struck! 

As early as noon, on the preceding day while 


LEAVING HOME 


49 


the fighting was in progress, an alarm had 
been immediately spread in every direction, so 
that on the day following it had reached Wind¬ 
ham at noon and Norwich a few hours later. The 
speed with which tidings of this fight was con¬ 
veyed “by horse express’’ will be seen, when I 
state that it was received at Baltimore on the 
27th. All persons were desired to furnish Israel 
Bessell, the messenger, with fresh horses without 
delay. 

There was suppressed excitement on the pa¬ 
rade ground, and unusual silence for a moment 
—the silence of men whose souls were deeply 
stirred—then a gathering around the horseman of 
men breaking ranks without leave—all eager for 
further details. As he rode away, the Colonel’s 
clear voice bade us fall in again, and command- 
ingly called out: 

“Men are needed at Cambridge! The time for 
talk is past; men are wanted to fight! Who of 
you are ready to march?” 

“I’ll go,” I said, stepping forward. 

“So will I,” said Captain Bishop, stepping by 
my side. 

“I am ready,” said another and another. 

And the young men that I had met came for¬ 
ward followed by scores of others; some of them 
farmer boys and others merchants and clerks. 


50 


JACK GREGORY 


I can see their faces as I write,—some fired with 
enthusiasm, others grave and grim with purpose, 
and a few good-humoredly thoughtless. 

Then the pent-up excitement found vent. 
There were cheers, hand-shaking, congratula¬ 
tions, agitation and clamor impossible to mirror 
on printed page. 

My little group of friends got together to dis¬ 
cuss ways and means of reaching Cambridge, 
where, we were informed, volunteers were to re¬ 
port for duty. Before sundown that night we 
had matured our plans, and a horse and cart 
was furnished us by a patriotic citizen to carry 
our packs and provisions. We were ready for 
march early on the following morning. The 
good people of Norwich thronged about us with 
offers of assistance, and with messages of en¬ 
couragement. Disdaining offers to entertain us 
until morning, we made preparations to sleep in 
a barn a mile on our way, and just out of town. 

The next day we had started on our march, 
when Job Tucker, with his handkerchief bundle 
swung jauntily over his shoulder, joined us say¬ 
ing: “If you fellers have no objections, guess 
I will jine yuh!” 

So away we went to the War. 


CHAPTER VI 


CAMBRIDGE GREEN 

I T is one thing to start and another to arrive. 
Owing to rain and muddy roads we did not 
reach Cambridge until nearly two weeks af¬ 
ter beginning our march. 

Losing our way several times we had to re¬ 
trace our steps, which was tiring and vexatious. 
But we lived well on the march; for Job Tucker 
installed himself as our purveyor and cook, and 
we had only to hint what we wanted, and supply 
him with a modest amount of money, when 
chickens, eggs, milk and other luxuries appeared 
like magic on our bill of fare. 

On our first day’s march we found that we had 
neglected to provide means to start a fire. But 
after Job had let us worry sufficiently to appre¬ 
ciate his forethought, he brought out from his ca¬ 
pacious jacket pocket a tinder-box and a good 
supply of sulphur matches. After that the boys 
accepted the lanky countryman as their guardian 
angel. 

We reached Pomfret three days after leaving 
Norwich. The people we met there had much to 
51 


52 JACK GREGORY 

say about "Old Put,” as they called Captain Is¬ 
rael Putnam. 

“You had ought to have seen him starting off,” 
commented one of his neighbors. “You see that 
field over there only half plowed? Wall, there 
is where he was working when the news ’bout the 
fighting come from Massachusetts. He un¬ 
hitched the horses, got a saddle for one, filled his 
saddle-bags, and started off as though a gale of 
wind had struck him; and some of our neighbor 
boys trailed along after him. He ain’t any bet¬ 
ter farmer than the rest of us; but when it comes 
to fightin’, I guess he’s king bee.” 

Arriving at Cambridge in the afternoon of 
May 5, we reported at once to General Ward’s 
headquarters, and were assigned to duty under 
General Putnam, as he was then ranked, who in 
turn, the next day, designated our regiment. 

We had brought a small tent with us from 
Norwich; a wise foresight, for tents were not 
plentiful among the troops encamped on Cam¬ 
bridge Green. Some of them had pinned blan¬ 
kets and others bed-quilts together with wooden 
pegs or pins, and found them a not uncomforta¬ 
ble substitute for canvas, at least better than linen 
bed-sheets which were used for shelters in some 
cases. Our little tent was pitched under a big 
elm, and in line with others of the regiment to 
which we were assigned. 


CAMBRIDGE GREEN 


53 


We found several thousand men in camp, and 
never having seen so many men together before, 
it seemed to me a big army. Rations were plen¬ 
tiful and with Job for cook we lived, as he said, 
“like turkeys in grasshopper time.” 

We drilled with our company the next day 
and, as my friend Bishop said, we “got a nation 
lot of military kinks that we hadn’t known about 
before.” Our Captain found it difficult to get 
his company together all at one time, they strag¬ 
gling into line much as they pleased. Some came 
a quarter of an hour after drill began, and others 
not at all. 

Under the conditions in which this army was 
formed it was impossible to enforce discipline. 
Sometimes fifty men reported for drill, and again 
less than twenty. Captain Farnsworth shouted 
himself hoarse with small results, since the volun¬ 
teers saw little use in so much fuss. They came 
to fight, they said, not to drill. 

Job was one of the delinquents. When we re¬ 
proved him for not presenting himself for drill, 
he would answer, “I had to stir around to get you 
something to eat; do you want to go hungry?” 
His excuse was potent; for whatever his faults, 
he always found good provender for our hungry 
bellies. 

The scenes on Cambridge Green were busy 
ones. New companies of men and smaller 


54 


JACK GREGORY 


groups were constantly arriving; some with fife 
and drums, and other with only a drum or no 
music at all. At the evening parade the New 
Hampshire men made a fine appearance, as did 
also a regiment of Massachusetts under com¬ 
mand of Colonel Prescott. Some of these men 
were clerks and merchants, others farmer boys. 
All looked rugged and manly. One article, a 
uniform, was lacking to all. The homespun 
trousers and hunting jackets seemed in best ac¬ 
cord. The one fault, however, was that there 
was not sufficient real authority vested in any 
one to enforce discipline; hence the attempt to 
make those freedom-loving men of a rebel army 
into a military machine was largely a failure. 

But there was one thing in which they excelled. 
They could shoot. There were few men among 
them who could not shoot a turkey’s head off 
with scarcely trying; and in this was the strength 
and effectiveness of that volunteer army in bat¬ 
tle. Captain Bishop, who was soon given duties 
in accord with his rank, told me that many of 
the New Hampshire men could hit the bull’s-eye 
of a target without seeming to take aim, and he 
was thought a poor marksman who could not 
shoot a squirrel through the head so as not to 
mutilate its body. 

“Old Put” drilled his men—or rather as many 
as he could get together—faithfully, and it was 


CAMBRIDGE GREEN 


generally conceded it was no fault of his that his 
regiments were not in fine shape. He was a 
great favorite with his men; and possibly if he 
had exacted too strict discipline some of them 
would have left for home. General Artemus 
Ward was thought to be too old and fussy. On 
the whole, though not very showy, we were in as 
good shape as could reasonably be expected. 

About a week after reaching Cambridge I got 
a surprise. If I could believe my senses, I saw 
Bob Learning riding through one of the by¬ 
streets near our encampment. 

“Hullo, Learning!” I cried. “Stop a min¬ 
ute!” But he did not turn his head. 

I ran after him, but he glanced back, spurred 
up his horse and was off. 

Much excited I hurriedly reported to Captain 
Farnsworth my belief that there was a spy in 
camp. He sent out a man with me to search the 
neighborhood, but no Bob was found. When I 
reported our lack of success and suggested that 
the houses be searched, Captain Farnsworth 
listened, but intimated that he thought me mis¬ 
taken. “We hear about spies being in camp, ev¬ 
ery day or two,” he said; and so the matter ended. 

About June the 16 th, the hurrying of mounted 
officers and orderlies, inspections and orders to 
see that our muskets were clean, the melting of 
bullets and refilling of powder horns, together 


56 


JACK GREGORY 


with many rumors, foretold a speedy movement 
of our army. 

At four o’clock of that day the drums beat and 
the shrill fife called us together on the Green. 
All were too curious to learn what was to hap¬ 
pen to neglect answering the call. Every man 
with his musket over his shoulder, his powder 
horn by his side and his bullets in jacket pocket, 
formed on Cambridge Green. A slight breeze 
whispered among the tree tops; there was an air 
of solemnity in the very atmosphere, and a nerv¬ 
ous expectancy pervaded the ranks. Even Job 
Tucker ceased to talk. The men silently waited. 
There was Old Put on his gray horse, and his ad¬ 
miring men from the farms of Connecticut; Colo¬ 
nel Gridley with his engineers with spades and 
picks and shovels; Colonel Prescott, with his 
sturdy men from Pepperill. 

It was sundown when the command of “At¬ 
tention!” came in clear ringing tones from Colo¬ 
nel Prescott. Amid a reverential stillness our 
minister invoked the favor of Almighty God upon 
us and our cause. Then after a benediction we 
began our fateful march. 

The semi-darkness of midsummer had begun 
to fall as we silently passed through the streets 
of doomed Charlestown and, crossing Boston 
neck, halted while a detachment with guns 
rumbled into line. Then moving forward again 


CAMBRIDGE GREEN 


57 


we climbed a bit of rising ground known as 
Breed’s Hill, and about to become famous in his¬ 
tory for all time. Bunker Hill was on our right, 
dimly seen in the early twilight. In front was 
Charlestown and Charles River, with here and 
there the glimmer of lights on boats and vessels 
on the stream. On the left was the Mystic 
River, and the dimly-seen lights of shadow-like 
Boston. 

An entrenchment was laid out by Colonel 
Gridley. We stacked arms, and began with pick 
and shovel the task of throwing up a breast-work. 
It was labor to which we were accustomed, and 
we were masters of our tools. 

“Say,” said Job Tucker, “if this was the hull 
of fighting, we could beat the Britishers at it to 
death!” 

The men took turns with each other watching 
for the possible approach of boats on the river, 
some resting while others worked. It was toil¬ 
some and sweaty work and created thirst with the 
workers. Our supply of water was soon ex¬ 
hausted, and also food. We were told that new 
supplies were expected, but none came. 

A wide, deep trench, the soil thrown out in 
front, soon formed with an embankment of yel¬ 
low earth in front and at the ends. All was 
still, except muffled tones, the fall of earth clods, 
or the accidental clash of spades or picks. We 


58 


JACK GREGORY 


could hear with startling distinctness the hourly 
cry, “All’s well!” from the British camps on the 
opposite side of the river, and on their ships. 

“Mebbe they’ll think it ain’t so well,” said the 
irrepressible Job, “when they see this here mud- 
hump in the mornin’.” 

“Wonder what they’ll do about it?” remarked 
another, pausing a moment after heaving over 
a cobblestone. 

“If they come up this hill,” said an officer in an 
undertone, “there is no doubt what well do— 
we’ll give them a warm reception.” 

I confess that as affairs reached this climax, 
my heart was full of sorrow at the thought of 
fighting to the death with British troops who, 
after all, were our own countrymen; for we had 
all been reared to regard ourselves as colonial 
Englishmen. Up to that time armed rebellion, 
though talked of, had little entered my thoughts 
as a reality. We had most of us believed that 
reform under the crown was possible, and that 
there was to be no revolt against the King. There 
was, however, in the air of this new country that 
which stimulated independence. Possibly it was 
the “spirit” working in the hearts of Americans 
leading them on His way to the founding of a 
great nation. 

We toiled vigorously and our work was almost 
done. Officers came to us with words of encour- 


CAMBRIDGE GREEN 


59 


agement. “There is Old Put,” I heard one of 
my comrades say; “he’s got that hill over yonder” 
(Bunker Hill) “with our men.” 

At dawn we had completed a redoubt six feet 
or more high, with a fire step to bring our rifle¬ 
men at proper height for firing position. The 
work of entrenching was almost done, and we 
took a look at the supplementary defences. On 
our left between our fort and Mystic River was 
a stone wall surmounted by a rail fence, reaching 
down almost to the water. New-mown hay that, 
the day before, had lain in windrows in the near¬ 
by fields was now woven into the rails and piled 
against the fence and wall, thus giving a protec¬ 
tion five feet high. 

As the day began to lighten we saw a bustling 
movement on the river and in the British camps. 
They had discovered our fort. 

“They have just got their eyes open,” said our 
talkative Job, “and now, by gosh, look out for a 
fuss!” 

That there was a fuss which made the hill 
and its defenders forever famous in freedom’s 
progress, history will never cease to tell. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 

OOK out! they, are getting ready to 
open fire!” exclaimed an officer with a 

,JL JL glass. Then, whiz! bang!—a gun from 
a warship on the river had spoken. Other shots 
went hurtling over us—a little wide of their mark 
and hurt no one—though some of us ducked our 
heads. More shots were fired and I heard some 
one cry out: 

“They have killed some of our men!” 

Then came another call: “When are we go¬ 
ing to get some water?” 

“Gosh,” said Job, “I am as dry as a piece of 
punk!” 

“I have been working all night without a drop 
of water,” exclaimed another. 

“When do we get breakfast?” 

“That’s coming: just be patient,” we were an¬ 
swered. But it did not come. Hungry, thirsty, 
and tired from a night of toil we faced the enemy. 

One of the shots from the warship struck the 
embankment near me, and I could see the men 
60 


THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 61 


who were still working with pick and shovel hes¬ 
itate as though about to leave their work: but 
they went at it again. I heard one of them say: 
“If I had my choice I wouldn’t go back home 
without getting a lick at them Britishers.” 

That was the spirit with all our wearied troops. 

As a general thing there was but little talk; 
the men were grimly silent, as men usually are 
when deadly in earnest. 

A few reinforcements reached us just after 
sunrise, under command of General Stark of 
New Hampshire. They had crossed Boston 
Neck under fire from the British ships, and an 
ineffective rifle fire. 

With sunrise we resumed our arms ready for 
the attack that we knew must soon come. Not 
only the shots from the ships had given warning, 
but the beating of drums and hurrying move¬ 
ments in the enemy lines told of preparations for 
assault. A few cannon shot from our side had 
made reply ineffectively to their ships. 

Our men waited silently. Some counted their 
bullets and held their powder-horns up to the 
light to estimate their supply, and looked to their 
muskets to make sure they were in order. 

“Remember, men,” warned Colonel Prescott, 
“powder is precious. Don’t waste a grain of it, 
or a single bullet!” 

I thought this strange, for I knew that several 


62 


JACK GREGORY 


barrels of it had reached Cambridge from Con¬ 
necticut, only a few days before. 

The British now began to show greater activ¬ 
ity. Boats were moving busily on the stream, 
barges were bringing up and landing troops on 
the river bank and forming in martial array in 
plain sight of our lines. Still our men gave no 
sign. I could hear men breathe three files away 
from me. They crowded to the breastworks 
eagerly. There was not room for all; so it had 
been arranged that those in the rear were to at¬ 
tend to loading the muskets and pass them to 
the front rank. 

The day was close and sultry with scarcely a 
breath of wind for the brave men suffering from 
thirst and hunger and nervous suspense. 

The redcoats fresh from a night’s rest and a 
good breakfast were forming on the river bank; 
their brilliant uniforms and shining equipments 
contrasting greatly with the toil-stained home- 
spun garments of our farmer boys. There was 
no flinching among our silent forces, and though 
there were pale faces, they were ready for the 
trial by fire. 

As if on parade the army of the enemy formed 
and came on in magnificent order, with the calm 
confidence of disciplined veterans. 

“Here they come!” was hoarsely whispered by 
a comrade near me. They were nearing us. I 


THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 63 

could hear our men breathe deeply and others 
grit their teeth. 

We could not but admire the foe, as they ad¬ 
vanced in orderly array, keeping step, arms 
flashing like waves tipped with a crest of steel. 
Only a few undisciplined farmer boys and some 
clods of earth stood between them and their ex¬ 
pected triumph! It was all in the day’s work for 
them—the scattering of a few rebel rioters. 

“Hold your fire, men! Look to your fire¬ 
locks! see to your priming! Wait until you see 
the whites of their eyes! Aim at their red 
coats!” came the commands as sharp as the crack 
of muskets from Colonel Prescott. 

The proud array of redcoats came on; it was 
but child’s play to drive out a few militia farmers. 
We could read the letters on their belt plates, 
count the buttons on their scarlet coats, see the 
winking of their eyes. 

“Steady men!” came the caution. 

Heavens, how I wished the order to fire would 
come! 

“Aim at their officers!” came a mutter, then 
sharp, deadly and distinct, came the command: 
“Fire!” 

A tongue of ruddy flame burst from the earth 
wall, an echoing report, a curl of smoke! The 
brilliant line of men in our front withered and 
shriveled before our deadly fire, and gave place 


64 


JACK GREGORY 


to writhing, wounded and disordered men, and 
to the silent dead! My heart sickened at the 
sight. These were human beings, obeying orders 
like ourselves. But even in the surge of horror, 
I reached back for a fresh musket. I seemed to 
be two distinct persons. 

All along the front from our entrenchments 
to the river the British dead and wounded lay. 
It was dreadful—that collapsed column of brave 
and gallant men. Down the hill the living had 
retreated, and through the thin veil of blue-white 
sulphur smoke we saw them forming again near 
the river. 

“Be careful of your powder, men; make every 
grain count,” came the order. “They are going 
to try it again!” 

And they were. We could see their officers 
gesturing, ordering and pushing the i$en into 
place. As they came on they showed their thor¬ 
oughness of discipline, advancing upon us again 
with steady steps, over their dead and wounded. 

I felt both pity and admiration for the brave 
fellows, as they came on like relentless fate. 
Bullets hissed—some of our men were laid low— 
sharp cries told of wounds. But the faces of our 
men were grim and set. Again they waited un¬ 
til the British were right upon them: then a 
steady volley answered and once more their dead 
and wounded strewed the ground on our front. 


I reached back for a fresh musket 




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THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 65 


Despite orders, entreaties and angry commands 
of officers, the remnant staggered back to the 
river brink. 

We were victors in the first clash of arms. 

But we were not unscathed. Scores of our 
dead and wounded were being carried to the rear. 
Still our confidence was unshaken, instead it 
was strengthened by that first clash. If our 
ammunition did not give out we felt sure of 
victory. 

“They’re forming for another attack!” 
hoarsely said a comrade. 

“Gol darn ’em!” cried Job; “haven’t they got 
enough of it?” 

They were deploying across the entire front 
of our lines from the fort to Mystic River. It 
was then that I recognized the power of disci¬ 
pline, as I had never before, except in theory. 
They advanced in splendid formation as though 
on dress parade—facing death with unfaltering 
ranks. We watched them until within a few 
rods of our earth walls, when the fateful order 
again came sharply: 

“Steady, men! Take good aim! Fire!” 

From hill to river burst another deadly blaze, 
and at its impact the flashing ranks wavered, 
then staggered rearward, some running, others 
limping painfully, or stumbling—back to the 
place from which they had started. 


66 


JACK GREGORY 


It was awful! Breed’s pasture never saw so 
grim a harvest before! As though to add to the 
horror of the scene, near-by Charlestown burst 
into flames, with mourning, crape-like, over¬ 
hanging smoke. 

But our forces were almost spent. They had 
labored all night, had fought in the sultry heat 
lacking drink and food during the shock of battle; 
worse still, their supply of powder and bullets 
was running low. 

The British gathered for a fourth attack. On 
they came with murderous bayonets; we had few 
or none to resist them. A single volley from a 
few rifles checked them for a moment, then they 
rushed forward—reached our frail embankment 
—and were on us with gleaming steel! 

They were met with a confused, mob-like re¬ 
sistance ; clubbed muskets, and gun-barrels 
against bayonets and a few rifle shots—for our 
ammunition had given out. 

I did not escape unscathed. A bullet struck 
me just below my left shoulder, and nothing but 
my skill in fencing with my gun-barrel, and 
timely help from Job Tucker, saved me from 
being made a prisoner. 

We could not keep up the unequal fight. Un¬ 
der orders from Colonel Prescott and Doctor 
Warren, with a protecting fire from Bunker 


THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL 67 


Hill, we retreated slowly and doggedly. It 
was then that the brave Warren was killed. 

The battle was over. It was a little battle, 
hut it was the entering wedge of separation 
from the mother country. 

We had met with terrible losses—448 killed 
and wounded. The enemy had paid meanwhile 
with compound interest; their reports showed 
that they lost on that fateful day 1,054 officers 
and men. 

The proud British army though it had captured 
the hill had received a staggering blow. The 
power of discipline, the energy of officers long 
trained to command, and veteran soldiers, had 
barely prevailed over the farmer boys who fought 
at Breed’s Hill on that summer’s day. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON 

T HE battle over, our troops retreated in 
fairly good order and took position on 
Prospect Hill and other rising ground to 
the north of Cambridge. 

On account of my wound I was sent to Cam¬ 
bridge, as Job said, “for repairs.” Job had also 
been wounded in his foot, and went along with 
me. 

“Jack,” he drawled, “I intend to follow your 
lead and tag, in whatever you do.” 

It was a promise that he more faithfully kept 
than I could have desired, but not without some 
advantage to me, as was afterwards proved. 

I did not consider my wound serious, but an 
old doctor of Cambridge seemed to differ with 
me; he talked about inflammation and said that a 
wound through the body was dangerous. Job 
declared that the doctor would have amputated 
me below my shoulders, if he had had his way 
about it. As it was, without much examination 
he fished around for the bullet with a cork-screw¬ 
like instrument, and with still worse corkscrew 
68 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON, 


69 


of bad Latin, until I was tempted to punch his 
offending jaw. 

He was still fishing when I said, “What about 
the hole on the opposite side of the wound, that 
you have not seen?”—putting my hand behind 
my ribs as I said it. 

Then a common-sense nurse suggested that the 
bullet he had been fishing for might have found 
its way out of that hole. And so it proved. 
The bullet had struck a rib, glanced, and passed 
around it with comparatively slight injury. 
When my undershirt was removed to wash the 
wound, a flattened bullet showed my doctor the 
offending missile he had been fishing for! That 
put a stop to his probing and his insatiable de¬ 
sire for talking also. 

Job Tucker’s wound though less heroic, proved 
more serious than mine. A bullet had struck 
the toe of his foot sideways and mutilated not 
only his best boots—as he bemourned—but two 
of his toes. 

He grumbled in a very amusing way about it. 
“Gosh all hemlock! why didn’t they give me a 
decent kind of hurt? Darn ’em!” he continued; 
“they’ve spoiled my best boots. Now I’ll have 
water runnin’ into that ar hole, all the rest of my 
born days; an’ I have to go limpin’ around with 
nothing to show fer it but them two toes. Just 
like them Britishers, they wan’t satisfied with 


70 


JACK GREGORY 


puttin’ a tax on tea, but must go an’ put a crimp 
in them toes!” 

Both of us, however, were soon able to be 
around and sit on the sunny side of the house 
used as a hospital. 

One day in July while we were thus seated, an 
unusual commotion led me to inquire what oc¬ 
casioned such a stir. I was answered that Gen¬ 
eral Washington, who had been commissioned 
Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, 
had arrived at Cambridge to take command. I 
certainly regretted that I was laid up and 
couldn’t witness the historic scene under the old 
elm. But it was not long after that, while on a 
tour of inspection, he visited our quarters. He 
was accompanied by some of his officers and a 
negro servant of great brevity and blackness. 
His tall commanding person, his grave, unhur¬ 
ried, business-like bearing, his methodical man¬ 
ner as he looked from side to side asking ques¬ 
tions, showed to even inexperienced me that there 
was nothing perfunctory in his inspection; that he 
was there not merely to approve, but to improve. 

When he halted opposite to where I was stand¬ 
ing at attention, I saw him face to face, for the 
first time. 

“Where are you wounded, Sergeant?” he 
asked acknowledging my salute. 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON 


71 


There was something strangely magnetic, 
kindly and attractive in his manner, which I have 
never seen expressed in description or in por¬ 
trait; but it explained to me afterwards the 
strong dontrol he exercised over the fierce-willed 
.men of his army. In his face were mirrored pa¬ 
tience, calm, impartial decision, a grave inflexibil¬ 
ity of will, and sympathy. If ever nature made 
a man fitted both to command and to conciliate, 
without yielding weakness, he was here. 

It was a short visit, and though he said little, 
yet in that brief time he had suggested many 
things essential for our betterment. Windows 
and doors were opened to the air, curtains ad¬ 
justed to let in sunlight, and cleanliness ordered, 
—and then he was gone. 

This is but an imperfect picture of the man, 
vital and human in every line of pose and face, 
—so difficult to express in words,—the man I 
came to love and respect almost as a god. As 
Job expressed it, watching his deliberate depar¬ 
ture with open mouth and staring eyes, “Gosh! 
there’s a man!” So all of us felt when in the 
presence of this calm, self-contained, but all- 
alive great commander. 

In a few weeks after his coming, greater order 
and discipline resulted. Camps were systemat¬ 
ically guarded, regular and orderly routine re- 


72 


JACK GREGORY 


placed disorder, outposts were strongly senti¬ 
neled; and in a word, an army was in process of 
being evolved from a rabble. 

At last my wounds were healed; and both Job 
and I reported for duty. I easily took to my 
military duties. I was young enough to form 
new habits, and to outgrow old ones. And I 
found the friendship of my army friends, Cap¬ 
tain Bishop, Lieutenant Farnsworth, and Ser¬ 
geant Lothrop, very stimulating. 

One evening at mess, Bishop beckoned me to 
one side. 

“Jack,” he said; “do you want to remain a 
sergeant; or do you want to do something really 
big for your country?” 

“I want to do my bit, sergeant or no sergeant,” 
I answered. 

“That’s the spirit!” he agreed slapping me on 
the back. “I told them at headquarters you 
were the man.” 

“What’s up?” I asked cautiously. 

“General Washington wants a picked man for 
a special mission,” he replied. “Colonel Lee, 
his aide, told me so today, and I designated you. 
But it’s not too late to back out—” 

“Back out? no!” I cut in recklessly. “When 
do they want me?” 

“Tonight. Come on; I’ll introduce you to 
Lee.” 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON 73 

We went together to Washington’s headquar¬ 
ters, where I was not long in understanding that 
this new role was that of a spy. I hesitated; for 
I liked neither its duties nor its dangers. But I 
had given my word; so Lee conducted me to the 
General’s office where sat Washington and sev¬ 
eral of his officers. A few words were spoken 
to him as I stood at attention and saluted. 
With a word he dismissed the officers and I was 
with him alone. 

He gravely returned my salute as he rose, and 
then consulting a memorandum, asked me a few 
questions about my education and parentage, 
as though he placed no little stress on both. 
Then he said: 

“You have been recommended to me as an in¬ 
telligent, trustworthy and patriotic soldier—one 
upon whom I can rely. It is highly important 
to our cause that information be obtained that 
can only be gained inside the British lines. Are 
you willing to undertake such duties?” 

Before I could frame a reply he added: 
“While the way has been prepared for such an 
agent to avoid all peril possible, you must un¬ 
derstand that it is dangerous duty; and no guar¬ 
antee can be given of your safety or protection, 
other than has been already provided.” 

I asked a few questions and then said, “It is 
very dangerous, is it not, sir?” 


74 


JACK GREGORY 


In answer he bent his head slowly, and replied, 
4 ‘Young gentleman, the duties of a soldier are 
always dangerous. We are fighting—our whole 
army, the officers especially,—with halters 
around our necks, and I, possibly, with more 
danger than the least of this devoted army. But 
is it not a cause that is, after all, worthy of all 
sacrifice?” 

Bowing my head in answer, I said, “I accept 
the duty, sir.” 

His firm mouth relaxed into a smile, and he ex¬ 
tended his hand. 

I saluted, took his hand, and departed. That 
one handclasp made me feel that I was treading 
on air. 

The minutias of my instructions were im¬ 
parted verbally; no memoranda or papers were 
given me, but all details were memorized, and 
among them pass-words and messages to citizens 
of Boston, who were to help and favor me in the 
work undertaken. 

This was in the middle of what proved an open 
winter, and it required waiting to get to Boston 
in the safest way, which was on the ice. At first 
it had been suggested that a different course be 
taken, but I objected to the desertion role that 
had been suggested. 

It was on the 21st of January—if I remember 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON 


75 


rightly—that I set out at midnight, alone, to 
cross the ice to Boston. 

I had not gone far when hearing a sound be¬ 
hind me as though someone was following, I 
threw myself crouching upon the ice, and 
watched for the unwelcome spy who, apparently, 
was dogging my footsteps. To my surprise the 
obtrusive person advanced boldly and in a hoarse 
whisper called: “Jack! it is Job!” and there in¬ 
deed was Job Tucker! 

I was angry. 

“What in thunder are you following me for?” 
I demanded. 

“Wall,” he replied with his usual drawl, 
“I J ve had a suspicion fer sometime that you was 
up to some kind of deviltry; an’ I jest want to 
be in it with you, Jack! Say, have you got any 
objections?” 

“A thousand, Job. You may guess that I am 
on dangerous business, and if you want to get 
your neck in a noose, I can’t help it; but to my 
mind you are a consummate fool!” 

“Yes,” admitted Job, “I more’n half suspected 
it; but I have followed your lead so far, an’ I’ll 
stand my hand now in spite of all you say. 
Come now, Jack, can I ?” 

It was “Hobson’s choice” and so I reluctantly 
assented; but not without distressing doubts of 


76 


JACK GREGORY 


its wisdom. Setting my wits to work, while we 
were still on the ice, to use Job to further my 
plans, I told him the role I was to assume and 
other particulars. 

Job, on his part, told me that he had a cousin 
down by the “T” wharf, whom he thought would 
take him in. So we planned, as best we could, 
about a future meeting; and he was more reason¬ 
able than I had expected. 

“Remember, Job,” I said, “you are in double 
danger, for you have deserted from the Amer¬ 
ican army and are liable, besides, to be taken for 
a spy by the British.” 

Job took it very coolly. “By George!” he 
ejaculated; “if the Continental Army will jest 
advertise me as a deserter won’t it help both of 
us?” 

I felt that it might, but it was impossible to 
tell whether or not it really would. 

When we got to the shore Job went his way 
and I my own. I knew him to be shrewd and 
brave and that I could depend on his fidelity. 
And after all, it was not a little comforting to 
me to know that there was one in Boston upon 
whom I could rely. 

Making my way through a part of the town 
whose details I had minutely studied for my pur¬ 
pose, I was startled by the cry, “Two o’clock 
and all is well!” from a sentinel. He was so 


A MISSION FOR WASHINGTON 77 

near me that, but for his call, I would have run 
into him. 

I was trying to evade him when he cried, 
“Halt!” 

I walked boldly towards him, when he again 
halted me and ordered: “Advance and give the 
countersign!” 

“I haven’t the countersign,” I replied. 

“Then what are you out here at this time of 
the night for?” 

“I have been to see my girl,” I said, “and am 
just going hum.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“Down on King Street, at Mr. Burton’s.” 

“Not old Dick Burton?” he said with half a 
laugh. 

“Yes sir, I am his clerk an’ he’s my uncle.” 

I answered other questions, which were per¬ 
functory, for he seemed in more of a hurry to get 
out of the cold than to be exact in duty. Finally 
he said, “I am half a mind to take you to the 
guard-house; but I guess you are all right. Got 
any tobacco?” 

“Not here,” I replied, “but if you will come 
to the store I’ll give you some.” 

That proved to be my best argument, for he 
slyly said: “All right, tomorrow—don’t for¬ 
get.” 

Reaching King Street and counting the doors 


78 


JACK GREGORY 


from a certain point, I knocked in a peculiar 
manner at the door. I waited for several min¬ 
utes before the door opened and a gentleman 
in night-dress presented himself with the in¬ 
quiry : 

“Who is it?” 

To which I replied according to instructions 
given me: “Your own nephew—John Gregory 
of Norwalk.” 

“All right,” he replied: “are you willing to 
take up the duties of clerk, as your father has 
arranged?” 

“I’ll try to do my duty, Uncle Richard: that’s 
what I am here for.” 

“Come in,” he said without further hesitation. 


CHAPTER IX 


WITHIN THE ENEMY’S LINES 


R ICHARD BURTON was a thick-set, 
rosy-cheeked, unassuming tradesman, in 
whom there seemed to be no secrecy or 
guile; but under his appearance of artlessness he 
was shrewd, observing and sagacious. He was 
reputed to be a Tory, and he let it go at that. 

I was duly installed as his clerk and salesman, 
waited on customers—some of them English 
officers and privates—collected bills, gave re¬ 
ceipts, and kept accounts. At night I slept in 
a little room over the store. 

With a quill behind my ear and a memoran¬ 
dum book protruding from my pocket, I was able 
to visit places where I could gain information; 
and in this way I soon became acquainted with 
British officers, and their non-commissioned 
helpers. 

A short time after I had been installed as 
clerk, Job Tucker made application to Burton & 
Co., as man of all work and porter, and was 
“hired on.” Even Mr. Burton did not know 
that I had a previous acquaintance with Job; 
79 


80 JACK GREGORY 

though I should have told him had it been need¬ 
ful. 

The South Meeting House, which had been 
fitted up as the army riding school, was but a 
short distance from Burton & Co.’s store, and I 
soon became acquainted with its officers and their 
non-commissioned staff, in course of furnishing 
them with grain and hay and other things in our 
line. 

In a week’s time I had as good a knowledge of 
the location and strength of most of the British 
troops as did their officers. This was easy to 
obtain, because of the contempt they had for the 
intelligence of Boston people, and the disdain 
in which they held the “rebels.” 

I had made a plan giving details, but it was 
in such shape that it seemed to be only a mem¬ 
orandum of accounts. I therefore thought it 
safe to intrust it to Job for delivery in Cam¬ 
bridge. In furtherance of this plan, Job began 
blundering so badly in his work that he was dis¬ 
charged by Burton, and then I sent him on my 
errand across the ice. I also sent a verbal mes¬ 
sage to Colonel Lee of Washington’s staff, and 
promised a further report. 

I had become so well acquainted with the of¬ 
ficers at the riding school, that through one of 
them, Captain St. John, I was given a pass ad¬ 
mitting me to the theatre they had established in 


WITHIN THE ENEMY’S LINES 


81 


Faneuil Hall. It angered me not a little to see 
churches and public buildings perverted to such 
base purposes; but, of course, I could not show 
my disapproval. 

Richard Burton had a charming daughter, 
Sarah, with whom I struck up a lively friendship. 
I took her to several of these performances by 
the British. 

It was while at a play with Miss Burton, in 
Faneuil Hall, that I met with a surprise which 
threatened not only my mission but possibly my 
life. The actors were mostly English officers, 
and, to me—who had never seen plays until the 
present—the drama was intensely interesting. 

In the midst of the performance I turned from 
a laughing remark of Miss Burton and looked 
up to the gallery,—and saw Robert Learning 
staring down into my face! 

I slowly turned my head away to conceal my 
shock of surprise. I felt the blood mounting to 
my head. I felt it not only meant the failure of 
my mission, but even the loss of my life. 

My heart was thumping like muffled drum¬ 
beats, when, taking advantage of the fall of the 
curtain and comparative darkness, I gave a word 
of explanation to Miss Sarah Burton, and we got 
out of the hall and made our way quickly home. 
Fortunately I met Richard Burton at the door. 
I thought myself very cool; but he must have 


82 


JACK GREGORY 


seen by my face or manner that something had 
seriously disturbed me. 

I told him briefly of being recognized by 
Robert Learning, a Norwalk Tory sympathizer, 
and something about our past difficulties. I 
also told him about seeing Bob skulking around 
our army. 

“A pretty kettle of fish, John!” was his com¬ 
ment. “Very bad, John!” 

After a moment’s silence, he added, “Open¬ 
ness is sometimes the best disguise. If there 
is anything about the mess that I do not know, 
tell me at once. What about that new porter; 
he acted a little curious, I thought.” 

I was surprised, for I thought the affair was 
as secret as the grave; but when I told him he 
did not appear amazed. He only nodded. 
“Any more cats in the bag?” he asked. 

“No sir—not yet. Had I better get away 
from here?” 

“No, stay where you are,” he advised. “You 
may not see that man again; act as though you 
had nothing to fear.” 

“But I have,” I retorted. 

“Yes,” he assented, “but that is all in the day’s 
work!” 

I followed his sage advice; for I knew that 
dodging before one’s task was done was not only 


WITHIN THE ENEMY’S LINES 


83 


bad policy but cowardly; that I was a soldier and 
that I must act the part of one and stand fire! 

When I reminded Mr. Burton that Bob had 
seen me at Cambridge, his comment was: “You 
saw him, too— You have as good a right to as¬ 
sume that he was in the army as he had that you 
were there. He has no proof of it, has he?” 

“But,” I said, with my old disposition to dis¬ 
cuss, “he knows I am a patriot.” 

“Yes,” replied Burton, “but they do not know 
it here, do they?” 

I was comforted by this philosophy and, more¬ 
over, did not think that Bob had any evidence 
that I was not just what I now professed. 

A week passed by, and as I had seen nothing 
more of Bob, I pursued my usual work. 

Job Tucker was still absent, but I was not 
alarmed about that; for possibly he might be 
under arrest as a deserter. I had meanwhile 
done about all that had been given me to do in 
the way of noting strength and positions, and 
only awaited a favorable opportunity to get back 
to headquarters and report. But here I met 
with another unexpected check: I found that I 
was being spied upon. 

I was visiting the riding school one day and, 
in returning to the store I suddenly turned back 
to go another way when a roughly-dressed man 


84 


JACK GREGORY 


jostled against me. There was something 
strangely familiar about him, as he turned quickly 
away, but I could not remember where I had 
seen him before. I was troubled about this, but 
could only await further developments. The 
next day I turned again on the street—just in 
time to see the same fellow dodge behind a tree. 

Among my acquaintances at the riding school 
was an old English sergeant. Like other non¬ 
commissioned officers of the British he had been 
in the service for many years. Though he 
dropped his H’s, and put vowels where they did 
not properly belong, he was a man of good in¬ 
telligence, and, I mistrusted, furnished, as is 
often the case in an army, brains for his superiors 
in rank. I was debating with him a mathemat¬ 
ical problem, when he said: 

“Do you know that while learning is a great 
thing—and there is a plenty of it among my of¬ 
ficers—the rarest quality among them is decision, 
and the ability to use it?” Then, to illustrate 
his meaning, he said, “The rebel army, for ex¬ 
ample, could drive us out of here easily!” 

“How?” I queried, laconically. 

“By putting a few guns on the hills south of 
the city—Dorchester they call it, I believe. And 
we can prevent them by occupying the same; 
but our generals, though they discuss it, don’t 
do it; and the rebels won’t. That is,” he added, 


WITHIN THE ENEMY’S LINES 


85 


“unless they ‘guess’ as they say, it will be ‘a tar¬ 
nation trouble for us,’ as they did at that hill near 
Charlestown.” 

“Were you in that fight?” I inquired. 

In reply he rolled up his sleeve showing me 
a bullet sear, “That’s what I got there!” 

“Did the rebels fight well?” 

“H’m, yes!” and then in a lower tone, “Man, 
it’s my opinion that we have made a great mis¬ 
take; ’twould have been far better to have these 
men fight for us—not against us.” 

“How did you feel about it? Were you 
mad?” 

“No,” he growled, “an’ I heard some of my 
comrades and officers—for aye that—say in sub¬ 
stance, though they were beaten back three times 
it was some satisfaction to know that it was done 
by Englishmen—for that’s what they are. 
They can fight,” he added decisively, “and what’s 
more, they will fight! And we made a mistake 
to begin it.” 

As I left him, two words burned themselves 
into my brain, “Dorchester Heights!” I saw at 
a glance how a few of Washington’s guns placed 
here would endanger the city and sweep the har¬ 
bor. I wondered if our General had thought of 
this. I felt I must get back to him as soon as 
possible and tell him what the old sergeant had 
said. 


£6 


JACK GREGORY 


Engrossed in my own thoughts, I had drawn 
aside into a doorway to make another entry in 
my notebook, intelligible only to myself, when 
I heard cautious footsteps. I had just time to 
withdraw in the shadow, when the rough fellow 
I had twice before observed, passed by. He was 
close to me, but did not see me. I gasped as I 
recognized the disguised features of Bob Learn¬ 
ing! 


CHAPTER X 


I SECRETLY VISIT CAMBRIDGE 

U PON reaching the office I at once told 
Mr. Burton what had happened, and 
without a word of comment he listened 
to the story. 

“Lad,” he then said, “you had better get away 
from here!” 

“I think so too,” I agreed, “and the sooner the 
better.” 

“Do nothing hurriedly,” he cautioned, “and 
then there will be less to mend.” Adding 
thoughtfully, “Let me see.” 

After a moment's silence, during which he sat 
with eyes fixed in nonfocused abstraction, he took 
me into his private office, lit a candle, then went 
outside and closed the heavy wooden shutters of 
the windows, to make sure that no one could see 
within. Returning he pulled out from a hiding 
place memoranda containing far more minute 
data about the British troops in Boston than I 
had obtained, and disclosing some particulars that 
I had not known about. Then, with business- 
87 


88 


JACK GREGORY 


like throughness he went over them with me, 
item by item. 

After making sure of my memory he carefully 
burned the papers, so that not a scrap remained 
as a tell-tale in case of search. 

It was late in February. The snow which be¬ 
gan to fall in the afternoon, just at sundown, had 
turned to sleet. 

As I shook hands with “old man Burton’' as 
his neighbors called him, and went into the 
street, it was so dismally dark and disagreeable 
that I could not repress a shudder at thought of 
the work before me. 

But it was no time for weak-hearted hesita¬ 
tion; so I carefully hurried forward under the 
protecting darkness, reached the Common, and 
then crossed it to the Back Bay, stumbling oc¬ 
casionally, but without serious mishaps. The 
very fierceness of the weather was my best pro¬ 
tection. I felt instinctively that Bob would not 
hound me on a night like this. I knew him of 
old to be a lazy fellow. 

I had planned how to act under every circum¬ 
stance that could be foreseen, and had not a scrap 
of incriminating evidence on my person. On the 
contrary, I carried orders from British commis¬ 
saries for forage and provisions, with which in 
case of necessity to account for myself. 

Reaching the river without difficulty other than 


I SECRETLY VISIT CAMBRIDGE 


89 


being halted once by a sentinel, I went my way 
unmolested; for there was little trouble in dodg¬ 
ing the guard on a night when they were more 
intent on comfort than on watchfulness. 

Though the weather had been mild for some 
days, I believed the ice to be safe for crossing, 
as there had been a “cold spell” a week or more 
previously. 

I had picked up a long stick while crossing 
the Common, by which to feel out the ice ahead 
of me. With even this precaution I nearly got 
into the water; at one time the ice cracked under 
my feet, and one foot slumped through. To 
avoid this danger I had to make a wide detour 
before finding a safe crossing. My passage over 
the river took so much time that the hourly cry 
from the British troops, “Eleven o’clock and all 
is well!” was heard as I landed on the western 
shore. 

Without further incident of importance I 
reached Cambridge and was conducted by a sen¬ 
tinel direct to our headquarters. 

Upon being admitted to the office of the com- 
nanding General, I found General Mifflin, Wash¬ 
ington’s aide and quartermaster, still working at 
his desk. Standing at attention I saluted and 
was motioned to a seat, and the clerk assisting 
him was sent away. 

“Communicate everything of importance at 


90 


JACK GREGORY 


once, and details later,” was his sharp command. 

Scarcely had I begun, when Washington in 
full uniform, which indicated that he, too, had 
not as yet retired, came in. I rose and saluted, 
when he bade me resume my seat and continue 
my recital. 

“Did you recently send a message to us by a 
soldier?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I replied, “by Private Tucker, who had 
followed me when I left here, without my pre¬ 
vious knowledge or consent. I thought it best 
to use him.” Then I told him briefly about Job 
Tucker. 

“It is well,” was his comment. “The informa¬ 
tion was important and timely. “Do you know 
him to be faithful?” 

“I would trust my life to him, sir,” I answered. 

General Washington and his aide nodded to 
each other as though satisfied with this reply, and 
said, “Go on.” 

I then gave the information gathered more 
fully—and with illustrative details. 

“There is one more thing,” I added impetu¬ 
ously, “that I think the most important of all 
—if you will pardon my seeming to advise you.” 

“What is it?” asked the Commander quickly. 

“You can drive the British out of Boston if 
you occupy Dorchester Heights.” 

When I narrated the conversation with the 


I SECRETLY VISIT CAMBRIDGE 


91 


English sergeant about the importance of oc¬ 
cupying Dorchester, a significant look passed be¬ 
tween the two as though it confirmed some in¬ 
telligence they had received; but they made no 
outward comment. 

Some hot drink and food were now brought 
in for me; and as I was partaking of this need¬ 
ful refreshment, General Washington startled 
me with the question: “Will you return to Bos¬ 
ton tonight?” As he asked this question, he 
looked me steadily in the face and added, “We 
still require your presence there, and it is not 
wise for the enemy to note your absence. Can 
you penetrate their lines again?” 

“It is late,” I replied, “but I will do it if 
possible, sir.” 

The aide went out to arrange for my speedy 
passage to the river. My General rising said, 
“Young gentleman, you have given loyal service 
to our cause. Act with discretion, as you have 
hitherto, and be assured that we will recognize 
your services.” 

“I thank you, General,” I replied, saluting. 

Washington bowed and without another word 
retired. 

A guide with horses accompanied me to the 
river, and at five o’clock in the morning I was 
within the British lines again. 

For safety I had made a wide detour and 


92 


JACK GREGORY 


reached the upper part of the Common without 
hindrance, just as the sun was rising in a cloud¬ 
less sky, when I was halted by a British senti¬ 
nel. 

“Halt! who goes there?” 

“A friend without the countersign,” I replied. 

“What is your business here?” he asked. 

“I am on business connected with the com¬ 
missary of the 22nd Foot—General Gage’s regi¬ 
ment,” I responded, and in an unconcerned man¬ 
ner displayed orders and unsigned receipts. 

“I suppose it is all right, but you will have to 
explain to the officer,” was his comment. And 
then he called out: “Officer of the Guard, Post 
12 !” 

I was conducted to the guard quarters, where 
I went through with some sharp questioning. 

“Why are you out so early?” 

“It was so dark and stormy yesterday after¬ 
noon,” I explained, “that I neglected to get these 
receipts signed, and I didn’t want Mr. Burton 
to know that I had disobeyed his order to do it 
yesterday; so I am up early to escape a scolding. 
My master is strict and I do not want him to 
know about it.” 

Luckily Gage’s 22nd Foot was stationed near, 
and that gave confirmation to my statement and 
was a seeming explanation of my presence there 
at such an early hour, 


I SECRETLY VISIT CAMBRIDGE 


93 


When the Colonel of the 22nd recognized me 
as the clerk who usually transacted such business 
with his regiment, and I had been questioned as 
to why my dress was so rain-stained, and had 
given—as I thought—satisfactory replies, I was 
released and went whistling on my way with 
seeming unconcern—which I was far from feel¬ 
ing—to King Street. 

In some unaccountable way, I felt myself spied 
upon, as was true, for upon turning a corner, I 
saw the roughly-dressed Bob dodging my foot¬ 
steps. How much did he know of my night’s 
adventure, I wondered? 

Appearing not to notice him, I resumed my 
way, entering the store of Burton & Co. whist¬ 
ling. Mr. Burton turned slowly and seeing 
Bob—as I later learned,—not far from the door, 
said sharply, “Where have you been, John?” 

“I beg pardon,” I replied; “it was so stormy 
that I did not go the to 22nd office yesterday 
afternoon, and so did it early this morning.” 

And with this reply handed him the orders 
and receipts from the Commissary of Gage’s regi¬ 
ment. 

“Very well, Mr. Gregory,” he tartly replied, 
“But don’t be so negligent again. We must be 
prompt in attending to army customers.” 

Going to the desk I began mending a quill as 
though my absence had been only casual. 


94 


JACK GREGORY 


As soon as possible, I explained my return 
to Mr. Burton, and told him about the further in¬ 
formation required, which I now felt sure it would 
not be prudent for me to gather, as I was most 
certainly distrusted and watched. 

“Do not worry,” he said. “We will find means 
of getting it.” 

A few days later a most fortunate meeting 
occurred. Going up Cornhill near the South 
Meeting House, I met Job Tucker, face to face. 

“What in the world are you doing here, Job?” 
I asked. 

“Wall,” he drawled, with a scarcely perceptible 
wink, “I have got a new place an’ it suits me a 
mighty sight better than lugging things for a 
cross stick like old Dick Burton—I snum if it 
don’t.” 

“What is it?” 

“Why, I am driving a carriage for a lady 
Colonel Carlton is particular to.” 

“Come down and see me. Job; don’t forget 
old acquaintance if you are a high coachman,” 
and with a significant look, I added, “watch your 
p’s and q’s.” 

He understood I wished to see him soon, but 
must be cautious—so, guardedly replied, “Wall, 
I will jest as soon as I can get off, but I have got 
to be on hand an’ may not get around for a day 
or two.” 


I SECRETLY VISIT CAMBRIDGE 95 


That very afternoon he came into the store, 
and bought a jack-knife; then getting near me he 
said in an undertone, while examining and criti¬ 
cising the knives and dickering about the price: 
“A feller follered me here; see if you know him. 
He has been dodging me for a week!” 

As he spoke I got a glimpse of Bob in his dis¬ 
guise at the shop door. “I know him,” I whis¬ 
pered, as I passed him the knife; “he’s a spy,” 
and then added, “It won’t do for me to be caught 
going to Cambridge. Can you make the next 
trip for me?” 

“It ain’t so easy as rolling off a log,” he whis¬ 
pered, “but I guess I can. I’ve got to get some 
hay for my horses somewhere.” I thought it 
safe—as Richard Burton had already given me 
further information—to communicate it to Wash¬ 
ington at once. I showed Job some other arti¬ 
cles and while he dickered loudly about their 
quality and price I managed to whisper to him 
the needed facts. 

As Job was leaving he said, as though jok¬ 
ingly: “I have got a carriage, and ain’t obliged 
to go afoot like you common clerks. Say! I 
can travel most anywhere in style, too. Why 
don’t you be somebody yourself, Jack?” 

I understood by that remark, that he intended 
to make use of his position as coachman to deliver 
the message in Cambridge. With this he strolled 


96 


JACK GREGORY 


into the street again, brushing by Bob carelessly 
as he went. 

I felt certain that the intelligence committed 
to Job, which was very simple but important, 
would be faithfully delivered. I was, however, 
much disturbed about myself. It was now cer¬ 
tain that I was under suspicion, and I felt that it 
was only a question of time when I might find 
myself in trouble. As soon as possible I had a 
talk with Burton in his room, and it was agreed 
that it was my best policy to stick closely to the 
store and thus take no part in gathering informa¬ 
tion about the British Army. 

“Lie low,” he said, “and wait.” 


CHAPTER XI 


A TRIAL AND A DUEL 

I T was not long before my fears were realized. 
First Mr. Burton was questioned closely 
about me, and then I was brought before a 
Courtmartial of officers. After going through 
the formalities of asking me my name, age, occu¬ 
pation, and the like, it was hardly a surprise to 
me when Bob Learning was brought in to con¬ 
front me. 

“Why, hullo Bob!” I said as though pleased to 
see him. “What are you doing here, and how 
are all the folks?” 

“Don’t worry about me and my folks,” he 
snarled. “The question is, what are you doing 
here?” 

“Come to order!” rapped the presiding officer 
sharply. “What do you know about this man, 
Learning?” 

“I know a lot, sir,” he replied; “but there’s a 
lot more I wish I knew.” 

Then he proceeded to tell the various facts my 

readers already know—how I had refused to 
97 


98 


JACK GREGORY 


drink the King’s health; how I had left home 
to join the Continental Army; and how I was 
even now getting information and going back 
and forth through the lines. It all sounded very 
damaging as Bob dwelt particularly on my go¬ 
ings and comings in Boston, but I put on a bold 
front. 

“Yes, I left home to join the Continentals,” I 
confessed frankly, when they began to question 
me; “but I left them long ago.” 

“Why?” queried the officer sharply. 

“They haven’t a chance against such an army as 
yours. No discipline, and men leaving the ranks 
and going back home all the time.” 

It was just such evidence as I knew our Gen¬ 
eral would approve, as it would lull the British 
into security and over-confidence. 

“Then you deserted?” he asked with a keen 
look. 

“No, sir, I simply didn’t re-enlist when my 
three months were up. Few of the men do.” 

“But you confess that your sympathies are 
with the rebels?” 

“I love my own people,” I answered. “If 
that makes me a rebel there’s a lot of them in this 
country.” 

“Do you mean you are ready to fight on that 
side?” 

“Not much chance now,” I replied. “I am ap- 


A TRIAL AND A DUEL 


99 


prenticed to my uncle Richard Burton, and you 
know what sort of a man he is.” 

The officers smiled at this reply, for Burton 
had the reputation of being a strong loyalist. 

“He’s pulling the wool over your eyes!” inter¬ 
rupted Bob at this point, hotly. But his impetu¬ 
osity and lack of respect for the court counted 
against him. 

I turned and surveyed Bob calmly. 

“For that matter, I don’t think you have so 
much to say,” I retorted. “I saw you at Cam¬ 
bridge, too, while I was there.” 

This unexpected shot confused Bob for a mo< 
ment. “I had business there,” he blustered. 

“So did I,” I countered. 

“Order!” commanded the court. “What 
else have you to say, Learning?” 

“Just this,” he answered giving a baleful look 
in my direction. “I have been watching this fel¬ 
low for months. He was one of the first ones to 
stir up trouble in Norwalk. He took military 
training there, and even took fencing lessons. 
That’s all.” 

“That’s true,” I admitted, “and I am only 
sorry I was unable to continue them, for I am 
fond of such things.” 

My seeming frankness told in my favor again, 
and a young officer who up to this time had made 
no remarks said: 


100 


JACK GREGORY 


“We will give you an opportunity to display 
your skill, if you wish to take the shilling. ,, 

He emphasized the word “skill” ever so 
slightly, and a smile went round the court at a 
raw young Colonial presuming to know anything 
about sword play. I did not reply to this, for I 
remembered a significant line from Shakespeare 
about “protesting too much.” But I was quick 
to see that this was a diversion in my favor. The 
rest of the examination was perfunctory. 

The young officer said something about “fun,” 
as an attendant brought in a pair of fencing 
foils. There were covert winks exchanged, as he 
said: “Perhaps you would like to try your skill 
with me in fencing; for I understand you to say 
you are fond of the exercise?” 

“I would like it,” I replied, “but I don’t think 
that I could make very good play against an 
experienced swordsman,—I am out of practice.” 

“Just one bout, if you please,” urged the young 
officer who thought to trip me up and also to ex¬ 
hibit his own adroitness. 

With the foil in my hand I felt an almost ir¬ 
resistible desire to try my blade, and as the officer 
assumed a position, I threw off my jacket, rolled 
back my sleeves, and at the call, “On Guard!” 
began to parry and thrust, with the sparks fly¬ 
ing from contact of steel on steel. That he had 


A TRIAL AND A DUEL 


101 


held me in contempt was shown by his not re¬ 
moving even his coat. 

He was, I soon discovered, a skilled swords¬ 
man, one of the best in his regiment, as I learned 
later. 

I saw as he made a vigorous parade that he 
had thought to disarm me in the first encounter. 
He was, however, so confidently careless that I 
could, had I wished, have disarmed him easily; 
but I chose to make him a friend rather than an 
enemy. 

I watched his eyes steadily while parrying his 
attacks, and saw a look of surprise and chagrin 
in them as 1 met his play adroitly. The surprise 
of the spectators equalled that of my adversary. 
My nerves were steadier and my muscles stronger 
than his, though in skill we were nearly equal, 
and he was in greater practice than I. 

The first bout ended with no great advantage 
on either side, except that he was a trifle winded 
and sweating profusely. 

I heard exclamations of surprise from those 
present who perhaps had thought it to be some 
fun with a country lout; but as we prepared for 
a second bout there was no little excitement. 

As my antagonist removed his coat and vest 
and rolled back his sleeves as though for serious 
work, the room filled with curious spectators. 


102 


JACK GREGORY 


At the word, “On Guard” I took my position 
and saluted confidently. 

“My word!” I heard an officer say, “but the 
youngster looks fit!” 

“Put him in the King’s uniform,” suggested 
another, “and by George-!” 

I fully realized the trial before me. The offi¬ 
cer looked grimly determined and not a little net¬ 
tled. 

Though at first I had been reluctant to put 
forth all my skill, I was now in a temper to do 
my best. 

He attacked fiercely. I parried and thrust 
cautiously and coolly. I was successful twice in 
penetrating his defense, while he was not equally 
fortunate. It was clash! clash! click! click! 
of grating foils and ringing steel, as I met his at¬ 
tacks and then thrust oyer his guard. 

With exclamations of the spectators: “Fine! 
Well parried! Good!” I met his attacks and 
made returns in kind. He tried several tricks 
in swordsmanship, with a low fierce guard but I 
met them all skilfully. He grew heated and ir¬ 
ritated, which gave me such an advantage that 
I again touched him; and the bout ended with 
shouts of approval, which seemed mostly in¬ 
tended for me. 

As we were once more preparing to take our 



A TRIAL AND A DUEL 


103 


places, I saw him speak to an attendant with a 
sidelong nod of his head which I did not then in¬ 
terpret. There was a resentful look in his eyes, 
as we crossed foils once more. 

It was fierce play on both sides, with him con¬ 
stantly pressing me; yet such was my advantage 
in youthful vigor and watchfulness that I held 
off his attacks. He was getting winded, while 
I reserved my strength. Again he lunged and I 
parried and forced his guard. Had it been a real 
duel with swords I could have killed him. 

He was now getting not only winded but an¬ 
gry, which condition my cool composure served 
to aggravate. I penetrated under his guard 
again in spite of all his skill. 

Urged on by shouts of approval I was about to 
put forth all my powers of deftness to disarm 
him, when a shutter flew open and a blinding 
sunlight flashed in my eyes. A quick side glance 
of my eye showed the face of Bob Learning at the 
opening, grinning maliciously. 

I stood on the defense at a disadvantage which 
only a swordsman can realize, when an officer 
sprang forward exclaiming, “None of this, Fitz¬ 
gerald!” and Lord Percy interposed between us. 

“You have not played fair, sir,” he said with a 
significant gesture towards the window. “The 
young gentleman has shown good temper and re- 


104 


JACK GREGORY 


markable skill and must have fair play. You 
forced the trial, and you should treat him gen¬ 
erously.” 

We dropped the points of our foils. 

“What am I to infer from that remark, my 
Lord?”- questioned my adversary. 

“You know what I mean,” replied Lord Percy 
pointing: “The button is off your foil.” 

“It was an accident,” affirmed my opponent 
with seeming surprise. 

“Possibly; but you have not played fair, sir,” 
he said with a significant gesture towards the 
window. 

“I do not think that he intended to be un¬ 
fair, sir,” I added. “I saw who it was that did 
that trick.” 

At which remark Lord Percy turned to me 
with extended hand and said, “You have shown 
great cleverness and good temper, and I con¬ 
gratulate you both on your skill and gentlemanly 
conduct.” 

“Thanks, my Lord,” I replied overcome with 
his generous words. 

“Your style is French rather than English,” 
he suggested. 

“My teacher was a Frenchman,” I answered, 
“and he thought well of my work. But he would 
have liked to cross swords, I know, with a sea¬ 
soned swordsman like Captain Fitzgerald.” 


A TRIAL AND A DUEL 


105 


Then turning to my adversary who stood nerv¬ 
ously bending his foil, I extended my hand and 
said, “I thank you for the honor, sir, that you 
have conferred by meeting me with the foils and 
trust that you bear no ill will.” 

“None, sir,” he answered heartily, and we 
shook hands, while several other officers came up 
and greeted me with compliments. 

Lord Percy who had been the presiding officer 
of the court, detained me for a few parting words. 

“Young man,” he said, “you are not quite clear 
of the charge of espionage, and these are trou¬ 
blous times. Watch well your conduct. Do 
you understand?” And he gave me a searching 
glance. 

I bowed, but did not trust myself to speak. 

A single misstep further meant death. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE GUNS AT DORCHESTER HEIGHTS 

O NE evening, not long after, I was given 
passes to attend the theatre with Sarah 
Burton to see the much-talked-of play, 
“Boston Besieged.” Written by a British Gen¬ 
eral, it lampooned the whole idea that Washing¬ 
ton had guns of long range. There was a vein 
of ridicule of the patriot army in the play, which 
angered me all the more that I could not ex¬ 
press it. 

During the course of the performance, as 
though to second my anger, whiz! whirr! came a 
cannon ball sputtering over the roof of Faneuil 
Hall to the dismay of the audience. In the 
midst of the confusion General Burgoyne came 
to the stage and ordered the British officers pres¬ 
ent to return to their posts. 

This was the first intimation that Boston was 
in danger from the American artillery. The can¬ 
nonade was continued by the encircling patriot 
guns from Lechmere Point to Roxbury. In this 
it was evidently Washington’s purpose to test the 
106 


GUNS AT DORCHESTER HEIGHTS 107 


range and strength of the British artillery, and 
also give a cover to another strategic purpose 
which was soon apparent. 

On the morning of the 4th of March there was 
great commotion among the British troops in 
Boston. The strategy of Washington was re¬ 
vealed: two strong redoubts had been erected 
on Dorchester Heights in a single night! 

The British were astounded. It was like the 
creation of Aladdin’s fabulous palace. Lord 
Howe declared that “the rebels have done more 
in a single night than my whole army would have 
done in a month.” The British Admiral said, 
“If the Americans retain possession of those hills 
I cannot keep a ship in the harbor.” 

Great excitement prevailed; groups of officers 
were seen in excited conversation, soldiers at 
quickstep hurrying on the streets; while de¬ 
mands came for supplies, food, grain and hay, 
from the stores of Boston. We were head over 
ears in work at Burton’s store. 

Though General Howe issued an order forbid¬ 
ding plunder, yet many stores were broken into 
and pillaged without recompense. But they re¬ 
spected Burton. Our supplies were demanded 
and given with apparent cheerfulness, and re¬ 
ceipts and payments partially given. All was 
hurry and excitement among the troops with 
what purpose we did not know—but surmised. 


108 


JACK GREGORY 


As for me I did not dare stick my nose out to 
make inquiries, even if I had had time. 

The British were preparing to attack and drive 
the Americans from Dorchester Heights, but a 
violent storm set in to defeat their purpose. 
Even the elements appeared to conspire against 
them. I believe, however, from what I saw and 
heard, that many of them were glad there was 
not to be repeated the slaughter of their troops 
which was seen at Breed’s Hill and of which 
I think they had a wholesome dread. 

The agitation among the troops, the hurrying 
of couriers, gave forewarning of movement of no 
common character which was soon revealed. A 
multitude of ships thronged the harbor, and the 
proud British army were making preparations to 
embark their troops and leave! 

Many citizen loyalists were also busy getting 
goods together, and all signs indicated that they 
feared to remain after the British were gone. 

The violent storm still threatening, retained the 
British transports olf Nantasket Roads for over a 
week. When, on the 17th of March, they sailed 
away, the Continental Army marched amidst re¬ 
joicing sympathizers into Boston. 

A large number of Tory families had em¬ 
barked with the British. Some of them who had 
property interests in Boston would have been 
glad to remain, but were conscious that they 


GUNS AT DORCHESTER HEIGHTS 109 

had made themselves acutely disagreeable to their 
patriot neighbors and relatives (for a separa¬ 
tion of families as well as a division of sentiment 
had been caused by the war) and they were 
justly suspicious that their bitter acts and words 
would now be returned with interest; nor were 
they disappointed in their anticipations. 

Richard Burton received the jeers and scorn¬ 
ful looks of his patriot neighbors—who believed 
him to be a Tory—placidly, and went about his 
business with the imperturbability which distin¬ 
guished him. Being always a man of few words 
he had antagonized nobody, and the patriots soon 
let him alone. When he was sarcastically asked 
which side he was on, he had calmly replied that 
he was a trader and sold goods to those who 
would pay for them. It was recalled in his favor, 
that he had been considerate and exceedingly for¬ 
bearing with patriots who owed him during the 
British occupation. 

It was during the turmoil of embarkment of the 
Tory families that I again encountered Bob 
Learning going to “T” wharf drawing a hand¬ 
cart in which he had a fuzzy trunk studded with 
brass tacks. 

“Where are you going, Bob?” I interrogated. 

“Going to my friends, if I can get to them,” he 
replied shortly. 

“That’s right Bob,” I tartly replied; “discre- 


110 


JACK GREGORY 


tion is the better part of valor, I guess, in your 
case.” 

“How about you?” he queried, wiping the 
sweat from his face. “What are you going to 
do?” 

“Clerk for Burton & Co. I reckon,” I an¬ 
swered guardedly. Then assuming a frank¬ 
ness I did not feel, I looked him squarely in the 
eye. 

“See here, Bob, what’s your game? You have 
been shadowing me, and you tried to get me in 
trouble with that courtmartial. Now what’s the 
matter? Isn’t New England big enough for 
both of us?” 

“Not while you keep after—a certain girl,” he 
muttered. 

“You mean Miss Hoyt?” 

He nodded. 

“Just leave her out of the case altogether,” I 
said crisply. 

“I guess we both will,” he sneered. “She’s to 
be married soon to a rich Tory. But why should 
you care? I’ve seen you flying around with that 
Burton girl.” 

I flushed at this but kept quiet; although I was 
terribly keen to ask him more about Emily, from 
whom I had not heard a word since leaving home. 
Then and there I resolved to return to Nor¬ 
walk the moment I could slip away. 


GUNS AT DORCHESTER HEIGHTS 111 


“Bob, you’re steering on the wrong tack,” I 
said suddenly. “You go your way and I’ll go 
mine.” 

“Do you mean it?” he asked looking at me 
through narrowed eyelids. 

“Why not?—but I’ll prove it. Do you want 
to stay in Boston?” 

“Yes,” he answered, and this time I knew he 
was telling the truth. “But the patriots will 
make it too hot for me.” 

“Not if you keep your mouth shut. Now I’ll 
tell you what I will do. I will try to get you a 
place with Burton & Co. He is going to send 
me out into the country to buy goods, and he 
needs another clerk.” 

I saw a keen look come into his face. 

“The rebels will drive him out of Boston,” said 
Bob. “He is a bigger Tory than I ever was.” 

“There’s no politics in business,” I rejoined, 
“and Richard Burton will sell provisions to the 
Continentals as soon as to the British; so don’t 
worry about him.” 

“Then let bygones be bygones,” he said with 
apparent heartiness. “You get that clerkship 
for me and I’ll stay.” 

I saw through Bob’s little game. He thought 
Burton a real Tory, and decided he could do some 
spying in his turn for the British and thus earn 
a commission with them. While I much pre- 


112 


JACK GREGORY 


ferred to have him under Burton’s eye than 
prowling around over the country. So we were 
both suited. 

The result of our conversation was that I went 
to Richard Burton and told him the whole story 
about Bob and he as a favor to me gave him the 
desired clerkship. Bob was immensely pleased 
at the prospect of remaining in Boston. When 
Washington entered the town amid the accla¬ 
mations of the people, Bob joined heartily in the 
applause. 

The loyalists who remained in the city after 
the British had departed cowered as the supple 
birch bends before a gale, at the resentment 
of their patriot neighbors, and got on with them 
as they could. 

I had an interview with General Mifflin, Wash¬ 
ington’s aide,—whom I have elsewhere men¬ 
tioned,—and was assureds of my Commander’s 
favor which took visible shape in a captain’s com¬ 
mission and the present of a horse. But after 
talking the situation over with General Mifflin 
and later with Mr. Burton, we decided that for 
the present I could serve the cause better by ap¬ 
parently continuing to work for Burton, and go¬ 
ing out into the country to buy supplies, as I 
had suggested to Bob. 


CHAPTER XIII 


HOMEWARD BOUND 

W ASHINGTON’S army did not re¬ 
main long in Boston. Believing that 
it was the intention of the enemy to 
occupy New York, our commander hurried for¬ 
ward to forestall its occupation, and on the 18th 
of March ordered the whole army, except a gar¬ 
rison for Boston, to march for that city. 

The plan was for the Continental army to 
march to Norwich and New London where it was 
to embark on vessels for New York; thus saving 
over a hundred miles of difficult marching. I 
went on ahead in my capacity of purchasing agent 
for Burton; and was able not only to buy needful 
supplies for Washington’s troops, but also to ob¬ 
tain much valuable information. 

It was unusually mild that spring as we started 
on our march. Nothing that concerns this story 
occurred until after we reached Norwich, where a 
fleet of sailing vessels awaited on which to embark 
the troops, except that I had again renewed my 
acquaintance with Norwich friends. 

113 


114 


JACK GREGORY 


I was on my way to see my cousin Josiah 
Fitch, when I again met Captain Nathan Mal¬ 
lory. 

“Hallo, Jack!” he called heartily, “where are 
you steering for?” 

I was glad to see him, but when he said, “Come 
on board my craft, Jack, and you shall have the 
best berth in my cabin,” I could almost smell 
bilge-water and feel the sensations that I had ex¬ 
perienced when I sailed with him to New Lon¬ 
don. 

“Thanks, Captain,” I replied, “I have a horse, 
which obliges me to ride.” 

“You don’t seem anxious for my company 
anyhow,” he retorted with a grin. 

With joyful expectations I started for my ride 
to Norwalk. 

I had planned to stop at the Mohegan village, 
hoping to see Winnake, but meeting one of the 
chief men of the tribe, was informed that he was 
away with a hunting party, and continued my ride 
through the balm-scented woods. 

When about five miles from New London, 
near Lyme, I was hailed by a horseman. 

“Where are you going, Jack Gregory?” 

“Where in Satan’s name did you come from, 
Job?” I exclaimed with surprise, for it was Job 
Tucker, and the last I had seen of him was as a 
coachman in Boston. 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


115 


“Wall,” explained Job, “I thought it best to 
move with the army, so I bought this nag to save 
my legs an’ to ride in style to my folks; and say, 
that General Mifflin gave me a lot of paper bills 
an’ praised me some, tu. But gosh! That 
horse and fixin’s of yours is some fine!” and 
added, “My horse ain’t much fer looks, but when 
his spavins get limbered up he can just go!” 

“Hadn’t you better go to your company, Job?” 
I asked. “By and by they may hang you for a 
deserter. You know that they are dreadful care¬ 
less about hanging folks in the army.” 

Job grinned as he said, “Gosh, they did get 
holt of me fer that business under a tree with a 
rope, once, but I just showed ’em a paper I’ve 
got, an’ they looked kind of disappointed an’ let 
me go.” 

So, once more I had honest, reckless Job 
Tucker for company. 

There were few bridges in those days, so when 
we came to a river, we had to “go ’round it,” as 
Job declared, “or swim.” Our journey was thus 
annoyingly lengthened. 

While making a wide detour “going ’round,” 
we lost our way. It had been cloudy for several 
days and we could not determine our course by 
the sun, and were “all mixed up” as Job declared. 

It was while prospecting to find a trail or road 
that we came upon a band of Indians. 


116 


JACK GREGORY 


“Gosh!” ejaculated Job, “if here ain’t some 
of them pesky Narragansett Injuns!” 

Though I knew they might not be friendly, I 
put as good a face as possible on the situation, and 
rode confidently among them asking for a guide. 

I did not like their gestures as they thronged 
around us and pawed their hands over my silver- 
mounted bridle and pouches. Finally when 
one of them bolder than the rest undertook to 
unbuckle my saddle bags, I struck his hand 
sharply with the butt of my riding whip. He 
angrily brandished his tomahawk and there was 
every prospect of trouble. There were threat¬ 
ening gestures and angry cries as they closed 
in around us and attempted to pull me from Star 
Face. I spurred my horse to make a dash from 
them, but my bridle was seized. 

Job was pulled from his horse, and there were 
fears in my mind that the worst might happen, 
for though the Narragansetts associated some¬ 
times with the friendly Mohegans they were a 
lawless lot, and not to be trusted. 

While they crowded around me with the evi¬ 
dent purpose of preventing my getting away and 
I was in the act of drawing my pistols to defend 
myself and force a passage, a tall Indian with 
the feather of a chief’s son stalked with a com¬ 
manding gesture into their midst, and grasping 


HOMEWARD BOUND 117 

my arm ejaculated: “Friends! friends! Jack 
Gregory, friends!” and there stood Winnake. 

My, but I was glad to see him! Throwing my¬ 
self from my horse, I almost hugged him. Win¬ 
nake gave some commands in a voice of author¬ 
ity, and after some angry grunts from the savage 
I had struck and to whom I had given my pocket 
knife as a peace offering, better feeling pre¬ 
vailed. 

Winnake explained to me that it was a hunt¬ 
ing party made up in part of his people with the 
Narragansetts, and that some of the young men 
had got rum, as they were returning from the 
hunt, which made them unruly. 

I could see that he was a man of authority 
among them. 

When he invited us to visit the camp and eat 
and rest, I gladly accepted, while Job with bulg¬ 
ing eyes of surprise and inquiry said, “Gosh, all 
whittaker. Jack Gregory! What did you do to 
them Injuns to make ’em give in?” 

After we were refreshed with food and our 
horses watered and fed, we resumed our journey, 
and with Winnake and one of his friends for 
guides took an Indian trail and had no further 
trouble in finding our way through the forests. 

A few days after we had reached my home, I 
invited Winnake to be my guest, but he smilingly 


118 


JACK GREGORY 


declined my hospitalities saying, “My white 
brother’s ways are not Mohegan ways, though 
they have much wareagan ” Which, inter¬ 
preted, means “good things.” 

We parted with many expressions of good¬ 
will and an agreement to meet again soon. At 
parting I gave him a fine hunting knife that I 
had purchased in Boston. In return, a few days 
after, I received by his messenger a doeskin 
hunting jacket and leggings ornamented with 
beads and porcupine quills. 

I was gladly welcomed home by father, mother, 
and Mary. Mother was much the same as when 
I had last parted with her, but father had visibly 
aged. 

“Father,” I said, “your hair has grown very 
white.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “I am not sure but I have 
suffered from anxiety more than you have from 
service.” 

My sister had been in school at Stamford and 
mother, who was not strong, had acquired a 
“hired girl” since my absence. 

My horse and its equipments were much ad¬ 
mired especially by father who understood his 
good points. “He is of fine stock, docile and 
spirited,” said father. Knowing father’s discre¬ 
tion I told him in a few words about my commis¬ 
sion as Captain, and that I was at present buy- 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


119 


ing supplies for the army. But I did not dwell 
on the dangerous work I had done in Boston. 

I had expected that Job, after a little rest, 
would resume his journey towards New York; 
but as it seems he had other views. 

When, shortly after my home-coming, I re¬ 
sumed my farming duties and began to help 
father with the spring plowing and harrowing, 
Job took an active part in the work as though he 
had been “hired on” and had no thoughts of leav¬ 
ing. 

When questioned about him, I replied, “I don’t 
know how long he intends to visit, but it is just 
like Job to hire himself as help here without invi¬ 
tation.” And then I told my folks about his 
amusing characteristics. 

One of the causes of his remaining with us I 
soon surmised, when mother said: “He and my 
girl, Matilda, seem to attract each other.” 

“What makes you think that?” I questioned. 

“Why, they grin at each other and she giggles, 
and he says, ‘Gosh!’ every time they get near each 
other.” 

“When are you going to New York, Job?” I 
asked him one day; “it is only about forty miles, 
and the road is good.” 

“Guess I will stay here awhile and help,” was 
his calm reply; “your Dad is getting old and I 
can pay for my keep by helping out. Say, Cap I 


120 JACK GREGORY! 

that Matilda Hurd is a mighty fine critter of 
a girl.” 

“I haven’t noticed it,” I replied shortly. 

“Wall,” drawled Job, “I have, and she can 
sure bake beans and cook clam chowder—um!” 
he ejaculated, smacking his lips, “Jehosaphat! 
but she is a bundle!” 

And she was: being about as broad as she was 
tall. 

So Job stayed on and I was glad of his help 
on the farm. 

The next evening after my home-coming, I 
walked down to see my friends, at the Arnold 
Inn. I had broadened and matured since being 
in the service, and Jean at first did not recognize 
me. We were mutually glad to see each other, 
and it is almost needless to say that we had a 
bout with the foils. 

He was pleased when I told him about my 
fencing with the British officer, and said: “If 
you keep up your practice zair are few swords¬ 
men who will be your equal. By ze way,” he 
added slyly; “what became of ze fine sword you 
left with ze young lady?” 

And he laughed and tweaked me hy the ear. 

“That is just what I am going to learn very 
soon,” I answered. 

Of course, I did not neglect to visit my old 
master, who seemed a second father to me. He 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


121 


was failing in health and strength fast. His 
eyes were dim, his steps were faltering and his 
voice weak and trembling. He knew my voice 
and greeted me with affection. I had to tell him 
about my experiences, and about General Wash¬ 
ington. But before long his attention wavered. 

He gave me his blessing as we parted, and I 
felt that it would not be long before he was called 
to his just reward. 

I soon rode to Stamford to see—Mary, and 
also to deliver a message that Steve Betts had 
entrusted to me for his folks. 

After some general conversation with Mary, 
I inquired, “Where is Miss Hoyt?” For I had 
been told that she was attending the same school. 

“Which Miss Hoyt do you mean?” she in¬ 
quired pertly, “there’s Miss Augusta Hoyt, the 
head teacher, and— “Oh,” she interrupted her¬ 

self as though she had not at first understood my 
inquiry, “You mean Emily Hoyt? She is on a 
visit to her mother who is ill; but no doubt if 
she had known that a veteran of Bunker Hill 
was going to call, she would have waited. 

“None of your sarcasm, sis,” I replied laugh¬ 
ing, but blushing in spite of myself. “But tell 
me, is she patriot or Tory? I heard that she 
was to marry a rich Tory.” 

“That is for you to find out,” she said mischiev¬ 
ously; and I could not get any further informa¬ 
tion out of her. 


CHAPTER XIV 


RAIDED BY TORIES 

T HE Tory element in the vicinity of Nor¬ 
walk was aggressive and at times vicious. 
Some of them were organized for depre¬ 
dations, and even members of the same family 
were sometimes bitterly opposed to each other. 

One of these attempts occurred while I was at 
home. The first attack was in a neighboring 
farm where several fattened hogs were driven 
away. They had not been killed at the usual 
time because of the scarcity of salt which had 
reached a prohibitory price. The Tories, how¬ 
ever, got away on this raid before we were able 
to reach them. 

Then we heard another alarm at a different 
quarter of the town. I was delayed in starting 
with others by what Job called “puttering prep¬ 
arations,” which delay, however, proved fortu¬ 
nate, as by mistake I took a contrary course from 
the others and found myself in that quarter of 
the town where Emily Hoyt and her mother re¬ 
sided. Hearing a suspicious sound I hastened 
to their back door and saw, by the twilight, some 

one skulking near the bam. 

122 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


123 


“Who’s there?” I called. 

There was no answer, but as I stood listening 
a man bolted out aiming a blow at my head with 
a clubbed musket. Dodging and parrying with 
my gun barrel, I struck back—my rifle not be¬ 
ing loaded—but the man evaded me like a 
shadow, mounted a horse hastily, and got away. 

Just at that moment Emily Hoyt herself came 
running out of the house, and seeing me in the 
shadow, gave a muffled scream. 

“It is I, Jack Gregory,” I called out reassur¬ 
ingly. 

She came up to me and gave me her hand, but 
was trembling like a leaf. 

“Oh, Jack, I am so glad to see you again—and 
now of all times! Mother and I heard a suspi¬ 
cious sound out here and were afraid to come out 
until I heard a horseman ride away.” 

“Yes, he got away before I could stop him,” I 
answered. “But let’s see if he did any damage.” 

We peered around in the dim light, and Emily 
uttered a cry. 

“Sorrel Top is stolen!” 

The man had indeed ridden away on her horse. 

“There is not a moment to lose,” I said. “I 
will see you again, perhaps tomorrow, Emily. 
Now, I must see if I can trace the thief.” 

I at once went in the direction the man had 
taken, but as night was falling and he had made 


124s 


JACK GREGORY 


for the main road, I lost the track. There had 
been several others in the raiding party, and the 
whole town was astir. 

The next morning early I found several of 
my neighbors awaiting me. Horses and cattle 
were missing, and they were anxious to recover 
them if possible, and teach the raiders a lesson. 

I was told that tracks leading to “Old Well 
Village” indicated that they had carried their 
plunder to Long Island. Desiring to examine 
these tracks I asked Job to bring my horse. He 
was gone for so long a time that I had started 
out to find him, when I met him excitedly bran¬ 
dishing his arms, and crying out: 

“Gosh, Captain, your horse is gone!” 

“Aren’t you mistaken, Job? I saw him in the 
pasture this morning.” 

But the horse could not be found. On making 
a circuit of the fence, I found one place broken, 
and traces of foot-prints and of horses’ hoofs. 

“Job!” I called, “Find Winnake for me at once 
and tell him I want his help.” 

And Job on a borrowed horse rode hastily 
away on the errand. 

We tried to determine whether or not “Star 
Face” had broken the fence or had been removed 
by the depredators. We could trace the horse 
to a shallow brook, but there lost the trail. 

“Wall,” said Job who had returned, “It is 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


125 


dam near noon, Cap, an’ I guess we’d better go 
to dinner. ’Tilda is going to have stewed chick¬ 
in’ and dumplins!” 

‘'Confound you, Job!” I retorted angrily, “you 
think more of your belly than of anything else.” 

“Plague it,” said Job sheepishly, “I’ve heard 
you say that ‘a man with a full belly was worth 
two hungry men’ and off he went. 

Sitting by the brook, disconsolate, I heard a 
twig snap, and looking up, to my delight there 
stood Winnake. 

“Lost horse?” he asked briefly, and then set to 
work. 

With keen eyes he took up the lost trail at the 
brook and pointing to some crushed leaves said: 
“White friend know paper talk, but not see 
these?” 

The trail he had discovered led to a ledge 
where even his keen eyes were baffled for a time. 
But finally he said: “Indian been here.” 

“Do you mean that an Indian has stolen Star 
Face?” I asked. 

Winnake’s black eyes twinkled as he replied, 
“Indian boy like horse same as white boy,” and 
adding, “Stay here, I look”; he left me. 

Soon he returned and beckoned to me. I 
followed him until we came in sight of some In¬ 
dian wigwams. 

Several of the Indians gathered around us. 


126 


JACK GREGORY 


and one with stately step greeted Winnake, and 
then turned to the others with a tone and gesture 
of command. 

As though in answer, a young Indian with the 
feather of a chief’s son came to him. The old 
chief making an imperious and commanding ges¬ 
ture, the young Indian departed. 

After a few moments of silence he again ap¬ 
peared leading a horse. It was Star Face! 

“White Brother make present to him,” sug¬ 
gested Winnake. 

I assented. Then Winnake told me that the 
chief’s son had stolen the horse from the Tories 
themselves whom he had followed. 

Beaching home with Winnake and the chief’s 
son, I took down my best rifle as a present, but 
Winnake thought the old musket on the wall 
would do, so bringing this out, I gave it to him 
with some buckshot and a hunting knife. 

Acting upon the advice of the chief’s son, who 
was delighted in possessing the old musket and 
the hunting knife, we made plans for pursuing 
the Tory raiders, the Indian chief agreeing to 
help us. Early next morning saw us on the trail. 

It was nearly noon when, after much perplex¬ 
ity, we came to the end of the trail near the 
“Old Well Landing.” 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Job, “here’s the jump-off; 
water don’t leave any tracks.” 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


127 


Winnake and the other Indians minutely ex¬ 
amined the trail and the shore a few hundred 
yards further on, then stopped and motioned for 
me to approach. 

“White man have big square boat here,” af¬ 
firmed Winnake, pointing out traces where a 
square-bowed, flat-bottomed craft had touched 
the shore. Higher up a gangplank had left a 
trace in the sand. 

Getting together several boats and Indian ca¬ 
noes we went to a near-by island, but could find 
no traces of the thieves. 

Next we visited my “Enchanted Island,” at 
first with the same result. But on searching we 
found that the thieves had built a fire there not 
many hours before. 

Then we went to a larger island about a mile 
away. It was barren and not a sign of either 
animal or human creature could be seen. But 
Winnake persisted saying, “We see.” We broke 
up into parties to find the trail. 

At one place, about half a mile from where 
we had landed, we heard an exclamation from 
the chief’s son. With a motion of his hands, 
while his face was bent to the ground he was 
keeping away those with him, so that the track 
would not be obliterated. 

“Big man,” he affirmed, “ride horse here.” 

Winnake verified his friend’s conclusions, add- 


128 


JACK GREGORY 


ing: “They ’fraid,”—meaning the rider was 
in haste. 

As we went on, footmarks were seen and these 
multiplied, as though the marauders had met here 
by agreement. 

“Bad man no care now,” said Winnake; which 
I interpreted to mean that the Tory gang had 
grown careless. 

The chief’s son stood for a moment keenly look¬ 
ing around him, and then with a word to Win¬ 
nake they both dashed forward toward a clump of 
trees and bushes. Then the sharp crack of a rifle 
was followed by a yell and a whoop like an In¬ 
dian war cry! 

Hurrying forward we saw a flutter of coat¬ 
tails of a man running like mad, with Winnake 
hot in pursuit. 

When we reached the rising ground on the 
farther side of the hollow we saw two men hur¬ 
rying to a boat on the shore. Before we could 
intercept them they reached it and shoved off; 
while Job’s long legs had carried him ahead of 
us nearer the shore. 

“Bang!” went a rifle when with a howl Job 
stopped short. 

Bringing my rifle to aim I cried out: “Stop; 
come ashore!” The fugitives answered with a 
bullet that clipped a lock of my hair. 

Seeing the uselessness of further pursuit, I 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


129 


turned to Job Tucker who was vociferating that 
he was “bleeding to death!” 

“Where are you hurt, Job?” I asked anxiously. 

“Jerusalem!” he cried, “the broad side of my 
head is gone!” 

“No,” I contradicted, “your head is there, but 
you are bleeding some.” 

“Some!” he yelled, “I am bleeding like a stuck 
p ig!” 

“And squealing like one, too,” I taunted. 

“Gosh!” angrily retorted Job, “can’t a feller 
mourn a little when he has lost his ear!” 

He had, in fact, lost a small tip of one ear. 

With further pursuit abandoned, and our 
chase apparently fruitless, we regained our boats, 
tired, thirsty and hungry. Job, who had quit la¬ 
menting over his ear, said, pointing, “Now there 
is an island we haven’t seen.” 

“It isn’t an island,” I answered, “but a point 
of the mainland. There is a spring of good 
water there, let us go ashore for a drink.” 

Winnake had begun drinking a draught of the 
sweet water, when he dropped the cup as though 
he had been stung, and got to his knees on the 
ground. 

“What is the matter, Winnake?” I asked: 
“Are you crazy?” 

“White man and horses been here,” was his 
reply. 


130 


JACK GREGORY 


And then Job, who had been “peeking around” 
yelled from a near-by thicket, “I have found 
them!” 

“Found your senses or your ear?” I scoffed. 

“The horses, Cap; hurry up or they will get 
away!” 

Sure enough, we found two horses staked to 
ropes feeding peacefully. And one of them 
proved to be the saddle-horse, Sorrel Top, be¬ 
longing to Emily Hoyt. I was particularly 
pleased with this find. 

There were traces of men, but none in sight; 
and after patient examination we thought it 
best, as Job said, “to make tracks of our own for 
home.” 

The tidings of our adventure soon spread from 
“Old Well” to Grummond Hill, and we had to 
tell about it to neighbors and friends. 

Losing no time, I rode Star Face, and led 
Sorrel Top to Emily’s home. 

She saw me coming up and ran to the gate 
with an eager cry. 

“Somehow I knew you would get him, Jack!” 
she praised; and I was so vain that I didn’t tell 
her that the Indians had done it all. 

But as I stopped to talk for a few moments a 
sudden constraint fell between us. 

“Tell me, Emily,” I had said; “are you still 
keeping my sword?” 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


131 


“Of course,” she replied, and I fancied with 
some diffidence, “Do you want it now?” Then 
added hesitatingly, looking up to me with timid 
eyes, “I would like to ask you something, if I 
may.” 

“What is it?” 

“When you wear—that sword—are you going 
to buckle it on—for Washington—or for the 
King?” 

“Why do you ask such a question?” I said in 
surprise—with a rising inflection of anger in my 
tones. 

“Because—oh well, I have been hearing 
things. I heard that you were in the battle of 
Bunker Hill, and that you were wounded there.” 
Then she added timidly with down-cast eyes, “I 
wrote you but you did not answer.” 

“There was a good reason for that,” I said, “I 
never got your letter.” 

“I wondered about it—I sent it by Robert 
Learning. Then he wrote me that you had de¬ 
serted the Continentals and were working for a 
Loyalist in Boston. He also wrote that you 
were engaged to be married to the storekeeper’s 
daughter.” 

“Did you believe him?” 

“Oh, I heard about it elsewhere, too,” she said 
without replying to my question. “And now 
you are home without your uniform. What are 


132 


JACK GREGORY 


you doing here? Which side are you on, Jack?” 

Her voice had gained courage as she went 
on, and now she raised her clear eyes and looked 
me straight, unflinchingly in the face. 

By George she was beautiful! I admired 
her “spunk” even while raging inwardly at her 
doubts. It was on my lips to say, “I bear a com¬ 
mission signed by Washington himself”—but I 
could not speak—prudence restrained me. No 
one in Norwalk beside my own family and Job 
Tucker knew my true position. I mentally 
cursed Bob Learning for his double-dealing, but 
I felt I must not explain; so with a note of ir¬ 
ritation I parried: “What about yourself, 
Emily, are you royalist or patriot?” 

“Why do you ask?” she said. 

“For one thing—you have my sword,” I re¬ 
plied. “For another, Bob Learning informed 
me that you were to be married to a Tory.” 

“Bob’s talk is absurd,” she flashed. “But why 
don’t you explain?” 

“If you doubt me, keep my sword until you 
can return it with your trust,” I replied with 
an emphasis that had in it more than a spark of 
anger. 

With tears she turned and brought the sword 
to me and placed it in my hands, saying sadly, 
“Why can you not now return my trust by tell¬ 
ing me the truth?” 


RAIDED BY TORIES 


133 


“I will not explain,” I said, “to any one who 
doubts my manhood in the least.” 

With tear-clouded eyes she looked me in the 
face and said falteringly: 

“Do you not value my—friendship?” And 
then turning, before I could recall my hasty 
angry words—was gone. 

Sore in heart, I buckled on the sword strode to 
my horse and rode away, sorry that I had not 
attempted an explanation. When later I found 
tied to my sword hilt a tiny knot of red, white 
and blue ribbon, I no longer doubted her patriotic 
sentiments; and was still more doubtful of my 
wisdom in not telling her the truth. 


CHAPTER XV 


OFF TO JOIN THE ARMY 

B Y this time it was getting well into the 
summer. Our farm work, thanks to an 
unusually early season, was far advanced; 
and I had also done everything I could do for the 
patriot cause in and around Norwalk. 

Now I began to fret at the inaction. Miss 
Hoyt’s words had stung me to the quick, and I 
was too proud to go again to see her. I even 
fancied that some of my old neighbors were look¬ 
ing at me askance. Big events were taking place 
in the colonies, and I craved excitement and a 
share in events. 

The Declaration of Independence which had 
been proclaimed had given birth to a nation whose 
cause I loved with all the intensity of my nature 
and I was drawn to the army for its defense for 
which I was pledged. 

The country at that time needed the unstinted 
devotion of its people, it being an unusual period 
of uncertainty and gloom for the American 
cause. 

The expedition to Canada under Arnold and 

134 


OFF TO JOIN THE ARMY 


135 


Montgomery, so hopefully undertaken* had failed 
in disaster; it was a tragedy of woe. Five thou¬ 
sand men had perished in battle and by disease 
without compensating advantage: There was 
mourning and gloom in many patriotic homes. 
It was the saddest return for a vast output of 
money and blood that could burden a people 
just entering upon a great war for principles 
as then untested in government. 

As if in answer to my own unrest, I received 
a summons to report to Washington’s headquar¬ 
ters near New York. 

Job, though urged to report for duty with me, 
had got himself appointed by the town “Com¬ 
mittee of Inspection” for home defense. 

“You know,” argued Job, “them thunderin’ 
big guns they are gettin’ from Salisbury for to 
defend this town from the Britishers? One of 
the selectmen told me they had got orders to 
buy them,—an’ was going to do it tu! But 
there’s no one here knows how to fire the tarna¬ 
tion things but me; an’ ’tis my opinion that duty 
calls me to stick to this town.” 

“Stick to this town!” I echoed sarcastically, 
“you mean, stick to Matilda?” 

“I tell you,” responded Job sullenly, “if I 
don’t ’tend to them guns some of these lunkheads 
will blow their dumbed heads off, an’ like’s not, 
kill some of the selectmen, by gosh!” 


136 


JACK GREGORY 


As Job showed temper I dropped the matter. 

“Father,” I said on getting up from the break¬ 
fast table one morning, “I have helped you all 
I can here and am all ready to start for New 
York to report myself to my commander for 
duty again. The British have landed their 
troops at Staten Island, I learn, and an attack 
is expected.” 

After a moment’s silence father replied in his 
measured tones in which there was a slight 
tremor, “My son, I have been hoping that you 
might be assigned to duty here, but will not put 
my wishes above the needs of my country.” 

“I must go, father,” I answered, “for word 
has come that an attack is expected on our de¬ 
fences around New York, and I should be 
ashamed to find an excuse that might keep me 
from duty there.” 

During that day I called on my old master, 
said good-bye, and received his blessing. The 
next morning early I bade good-bye to the home- 
folks. 

“God be with you,” said father, with trem¬ 
bling voice. “Be brave, but don’t be reckless. 
‘Draw near to God and He will draw near to 
you.’ ” And then with mother’s kiss still warm 
on my cheek, I rode away. 

Some of the town’s people besides my intimate 


OFF TO JOIN THE ARMY 


137 


friends came out to greet me as I rode through 
the streets. Most of them had known me from 
boyhood and greeted me warmly and believed 
in me in spite of slander and appearances. 

My road led by the Hoyt house which stood 
on a plateau above the street level, and my eyes 
were drawn irresistibly toward it. I wanted to 
stop and bid good-bye to Emily—but my pride 
forbade. 

Her -words, “which side are you on?” rang in 
my ears. Which side was she on? 

Did I imagine it, or was it real, that I saw 
a flutter of a white kerchief from an open win¬ 
dow? 

When I reached the heights that overlooked 
the town, its homes, its churches and streets 
framed in exquisite foliage, its river gleaming 
like silver with flashes of gold, the picturesque 
islands and the more distant Long Island Sound, 
all seemed to me more beautiful than ever. I 
bade good-bye to it with heart sinking, intensi¬ 
fied by thoughts of the loved ones that I might 
never see again. But not for a moment did I 
draw rein. My country’s call was like a fever in 
my veins. 

I stopped in Stamford to bid sister Mary 
adieu, who with several of her friends came out, 
for I refused to alight on plea of haste, Mary 


138 


JACK GREGORY 


introduced me to several of the young ladies, who 
crowded around to greet her soldier brother, pet¬ 
ting Star Face and admiring my equipments. 
They were no doubt lovely, but for me, as I re¬ 
luctantly admitted to myself, there was but one 
girl's face in all the world. In vain I said to my¬ 
self, “John, you are a fool”; yet I could not help 
my emotions. 

“Did you see Emily before you left home?” 
asked Mary. 

“Why,” I evaded; “is she still in Norwalk?” 

“She has been ill,” she replied with a reproach¬ 
ful look I could not interpret, “and has not been 
able to resume her work here.” 

I had not ridden long before my horse began to 
limp and I found that one of his shoes was loose. 
Fearing to lame him I walked him and thus was 
delayed. Seeing the impossibility of reaching 
New York that day I got quarters for the night 
at a farm-house near the shop of a blacksmith 
who fastened the horseshoe. 

A well-dressed and smoothly-spoken stranger 
greeted me near the farm-house barn. 

“You have a good horse there, sir.” 

“Yes, sir,” I replied crisply, not liking his 
freedom in addressing me. 

Then coming nearer and looking me over, he 
said, reaching out as though to take hold of it, 
“That’s a fine sword you wear, sir.” 


OFF TO JOIN THE ARMY 


139 


I answered, “Yes, it is good enough to care 
for,” pushing away his hand. 

“No offense, I hope.” 

“On short acquaintance one should not be too 
free.” 

“I beg pardon, sir,” he excused, “fellow trav¬ 
elers should not stand too much on ceremony.” 

I bowed, not in agreement, but as if in recog¬ 
nition of his excuse. 

That night I fastened my bedroom door and 
put my pistol within reach when I went to bed, 
for I mistrusted him, and in those times it was 
well to be careful. 

In the morning I arose early, fed my horse and 
was away, and before noon reported for duty 
to General Mifflin. He listened to my confiden¬ 
tial report of conditions up in Connecticut. 
“You want some active service, I believe?” he 
asked after complimenting me kindly on my 
work. 

“Indeed I do, sir,” I answered warmly. 

He smiled. “It is just as well to transfer you 
to other service now, Captain Gregory.” Say¬ 
ing which, he sent me across the river to report 
for duty to General Putnam. I was greeted 
kindly and after drawing a captain’s uniform, 
was assigned to quarters near that general. 

“You are well equipped,” he remarked, glanc¬ 
ing at my sword, “I need an officer of good 


140 


JACK GREGORY 


appearance and with a good horse, for an aide 
de camp” 

“I would like it,” I answered, “especially if 
there is danger in the work.” 

“Danger enough,” he responded gruffly, “We 
are likely to get some hot work all along the line. 
It is doubtful if we can hold on here long, and a 
retreat isn’t a picnic.” 

I found the following state of affairs: On the 
5th of July, General Howe’s transports, after 
landing their incumbrances of Tory families that 
had fled from Boston with him, had returned from 
Halifax, made offing at Sandy Hook and landed 
at Staten Island. These troops with reinforce¬ 
ments brought his forces up to nine thousand 
men. 

About the same time Admiral Howe with a 
squadron of one hundred and fifty transports 
loaded with troops arrived. Soon after this two 
warships passed our batteries at Paulus Hook 
and interrupted Washington’s communications 
with Albany and his northern army. 

Brooklyn Heights was occupied and strongly 
fortified by the American Army. It numbered, 
roughly speaking, about fifteen thousand men. 
The British army including some regiments of 
Hessians was nearly twice that number, and 
every man was a soldier well-equipped and well- 


OFF TO JOIN THE ARMY 


141 


trained; while Washington’s army was poorly- 
disciplined and equipped. 

A redoubt of seven guns crowned Brooklyn 
Heights; Red Hook with its marshes and thick¬ 
ets, with its line of over half a mile of intrench- 
ments had but twenty-five guns. This artillery 
was of several different patterns and calibre, 
rusty and neglected. Our soldiers were good 
marksmen as riflemen, but did not understand 
the first principles of artillery fire. 

Washington was fully aware of the deficien¬ 
cies of his army and of his enemy’s superiority 
in everything that constitutes one. When Gov¬ 
ernor Trumbull had written him that, “he did not 
greatly dread what the enemy could do, trusting 
in heaven to support us knowing our cause to be 
righteous,” Washington in reply sent him a copy 
of his army returns saying, “To trust in the jus¬ 
tice of our cause without our utmost exertions 
would be tempting Providence.” 

I do not think that our Commander-in-Chief 
believed he could hold his position for long; but 
had determined to yield it as unwillingly as pos¬ 
sible and thus give training, confidence and 
greater efficiency to his undisciplined men. 

About a week after my arrival while seated 
in front of General Putnam’s quarters waiting 
for orders, I saw a cloud of dust on the road 


142 


JACK GREGORY 


which I thought might veil a messenger with im¬ 
portant tidings. To my surprise, however, there 
emerged from the dust-cloud no more important 
a personage than Job Tucker. 

“What brings you here, Job?” I asked. 

“Wall,” drawled Job, “that horse of mine 
brought me here, by gosh, but the power back 
of that was something else.” 

So far as Job would acknowledge, his career 
as an artillery instructor had not been brilliant. 

“A feller,” explained Job, “lost his thumb and 
almost his head, by not keeping his thumb on the 
consarned touchhole of a vent when they fired 
one of them big guns. Jehosaphat! How was 
I goin’ to know what that feller was to do with 
his thumb when the darned thing was fired?” 

“Well,” I teased, “how about Matilda?” 

“Gosh ding it!” he swore, “she blowed me up 
wus than that touchhole did the feller’s thumb. 
Said she wasn’t going to have a man hangin’ 
around her to keep themselves out of the army.” 

“That is the trouble, is it, Job? You have 
my sympathy. What do you want to do?” 

“Somethin’ thunderin’ hard to ease my mind.” 

I understood, and got him a detail to cut and 
split some tough, knotty wood for the camp. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE TURMOIL OF BATTLE 

O N the 22nd of August the British army 
that had been landed at Staten Island 
in New York harbor crossed without op¬ 
position to Long Island and, landing at Graves¬ 
end, erected works and opened lines of ap¬ 
proach. 

Washington had made a thorough examination 
of the American position in person. Part of 
his troops were on Long Island and part in New 
York. 

On the evening of the 26th I had been sent 
with important orders to General Sullivan at 
Brooklyn Heights. Washington feared that he 
was about to be attacked. While on my way 
there I met Job Tucker, sweaty and dusty, toil¬ 
ing over the road with his musket at right shoul¬ 
der and a bulging canvas bag filled with what he 
called “war stuff.” 

“Hullo, Job!” I called, “are you deserting your 
woodpile?” 

“Gosh yes! I was having too much time to 
think an’ get the mullygrubs at that job, an’ I 

143 


144 


JACK GREGORY 


am off for a shot at them Hessian cusses that are 
hired to kill us.” 

“Did you obtain permission to leave your 
job?” 

“Permission to fight?” questioned Job, with an 
expression of amazement: “I guess they’ll need 
me without that.” 

“I think they will, Job.” 

“That’s the way to talk, Cap!” 

“What have you got in that bag, Job?” I 
asked. 

For reply he opened it and displayed a small 
gridiron, a drinking cup, a chicken, and some 
Indian meal, explaining as he retied the bag, 
“Stomach stuffin’.” 

“Say, Cap! I met a Stamford feller who was 
inquiring about you; said he met you on the road 
here.” And then Joe described him. 

“Yes,” I replied; “I met him and didn’t like 
his looks.” 

“Same here,” agreed Job. 

I made no reply to this but rode on thinking 
about what Job had suggested. A few minutes 
later I was aroused by having my bridle seized 
by a man who sprang from behind a tree. 

I struck the man a sharp blow with my whip, 
when Flash! Bang! Whiz! a pistol shot went 
buzzing by my head, which I had fortunately de¬ 
flected by my blow. At the same time that I 


THE TURMOIL OF RATTLE 


145 


struck in defense, I seized my bridle near the bit 
and spurred my horse upon the intruder. It was 
fortunate that we moved quickly or it would 
have been the last of my horse, for the rascal 
whacked at him with his broad-sword. 

Fearing for Star Face more than for my own 
safety, I drew off and dismounted. I had taught 
my horse to stand—for at a pinch there is noth¬ 
ing more serviceable—then rushed to attack 
the villain with drawn sword. 

The scamp was bold and met me sturdily as 
though expecting to overcome me by the su¬ 
perior weight of his weapon. I parried, then 
thrust, at which he gave a cry, as though 
wounded. I dealt him another thrust under his 
guard, then parried, and by a vigorous parade 
sent his sword flying from his hand. It was 
none too soon, for before I could finish him, a 
man sprang forward and made for my horse. 

It was fortunate that I was fleet of foot and 
reached Star Face first, though not in time to 
mount. With the bridle in my grasp I struck at 
the rascal; but fears for my horse put me for a 
time at a disadvantage. As he dodged around 
Star Face, I turned and almost at the same time 
—mounted. The fellow advanced sturdily upon 
me. I dealt him a stab that sent him to the 
ground. He did not move, and by the uncertain 
light I saw a dark stain overspreading his face. 


146 


JACK GREGORY 


Fearing to linger I left the poor devil to the 
fate that he had invited, and rode away. 

With but an imperfect view of the men, I 
recognized the first who had attacked me as the 
person described by Job. What purpose had 
the man in attacking me? Was it theft or mur¬ 
der? 

On my arrival at General Sullivan’s head¬ 
quarters, I delivered my message. The Gen¬ 
eral read the order, it seemed to me carelessly, 
then said: 

“I can hold this position against the whole 
British army!” 

I got the impression from his manner that he 
was conceited and did not like advice, and that 
he was headstrong. 

The rank and file I met seemed equally con¬ 
fident. Said one of them, “We will give them 
something that will make them see two Bunker 
Hills!” It seemed to me that they swaggered 
too much. 

As the hour was late, I determined to wait 
until the moon was up before returning. So I 
looked up some acquaintances, among whom 
were John Buxton and Sergeant Betts. 

“Better bunk with me, Captain,” suggested 
Buxton, “I want to talk to you.” 

“Thank you,” I replied, “but when the moon 


THE TURMOIL OF BATTLE 


147 


is up towards morning, awaken me for I must 
be getting back.” 

“I don’t like the looks of things,” explained 
Buxton; “out there in the rear of us there are 
three roads—you might call them—that are only 
half guarded.” 

“That’s so,” chimed in Sergeant Betts. “I 
was Sergeant of the Guard on the road on the 
right a few nights ago, and found that the British 
were mighty inquisitive. I nearly captured 
some of them there, too. But I had not over a 
dozen men with me, and they couldn’t leave 
post.” 

“If they can get control of that defile on our 
left,” said Jack Buxton decisively, “the devil 
will be to pay, for they will get in our rear.” 

“I think that General Sullivan must under¬ 
stand their importance,” I said, “and has a plan 
for their defense.” 

And there the conversation about it closed. 

Some time during the night, I was awakened 
by Steve shaking my shoulder and exclaiming, 
“Wake up, Cap! The deuce is to pay!” 

And as I awoke, I heard the snap! snap! crack! 
crack! crack! of musketry! The long roll 
sounded and on every side was heard the com¬ 
mand, “Turn out! Turn out!” and men hasten¬ 
ing to obey. 


148 


JACK GREGORY 


I had caught the general infection of confi¬ 
dence which, however, was soon rudely disturbed. 
While attention was turned to an expected as¬ 
sault in the front, a sharp clamor of musketry 
was heard on our left. % 

“That firing is at Yellow Hook,” said Steve. 

“No, that’s on our right; this is nearer and on 
our left,” said Buxton. 

It was not over an hour—perhaps about four 
o’clock in the morning—when our men who were 
confidently facing east in the breast-works were 
surprised to hear the rattle of musketry behind 
them! The enemy had got possession of the de¬ 
file on our left flank and had debouched in our 
rear. Then over-confidence gave place to panic! 

“We are surrounded!” was the cry. 

The officers, though badly shaken, tried to 
rally their men. But undisciplined men are 
never panic proof. It was not long before the 
hopelessness of holding the position was shown. 
Shot came from front and rear. 

I was contemplating making a dash with my 
horse and getting through before daylight— 
though it was moonlight—when I encountered 
Job Tucker. He was in a tousled condition. 
His clothes were torn, his hat gone, his hair on 
end, and his face bleeding from scratches, while 
his eyes bulged out like alarmed sentinels from 
his disturbed and anxious face. 


THE TURMOIL OF BATTLE 


149 


“Gosh, Cap!” he cried, “there’s tarnation to 
pay out there! Them Hessians would have got 
me if I hadn’t jumped into some of the darnedest 
briar bushes you ever heard tell of. Jerusa¬ 
lem!” he continued, “them red-bellied fellers are 
thicker than huckleberries in a pie. Say, Cap, 
what are we goin’ to do about it?” 

“We’ve got to get out; or at least I have. 
This is the time, as Shakespeare says, when ‘dis¬ 
cretion is the better part of valor!’ ” 

“I never heard of that general, but he was 
dangnation right if he said it about this mess.” 

I questioned Job about the route he had taken 
to get into our lines and then made my decision, 
for in spite of his oddities I knew him to be both 
observant and shrewd. 

“Lead the way through that bramble-patch, 
Job.” 

Job understood. He stopped talking, pulled 
on an old cap he had picked up, and led the way 
while I followed walking by the side of my horse. 

We heard the sharp report of musketry all 
around us growing nearer and nearer, as we hur¬ 
ried through the thickets. 

We had not gone far when we had a dozen 
or more followers. I turned to them saying, 
“Spread yourselves out thin, men, and keep con¬ 
cealed as much as possible; it’s your only chance 
to get through and a poor one at that.” 


JACK GREGOR^ 


150 

They obeyed. Crouching, creeping forward 
stealthily, on they went leading, while I followed 
with my horse. When we came to the defile 
along our rear, we found the enemy partially 
guarding it. 

“We can slip across the road one at a time 
maybe,” said Job doubtfully; but I guess you’d 
better leave your horse: it’s light as day.” 

I shook my head saying, “You men go first 
and I will get through, if I can, in my own way.” 
For I had thought of a plan which though dan¬ 
gerous seemed best. 

Believing that a bold course was the safest for 
me, first turning my coat which had some red in 
its lining, I mounted Star Face and avoiding the 
brambles, rode slowly into the road in plain sight 
of several British soldiers there. I even halted 
and looked up and down the defile, then care¬ 
lessly and slowly passed into the thicket on 
the further side, and again dismounting made 
my way through coppice and briar patches to¬ 
wards the East River. 

It was not long before some of my comrades 
joined me. 

“Jerusalem, Cap!” was Job’s greeting, “You 
did that dangnation well!” 

I made no reply, yet I was satisfied with my¬ 
self. 

In another half-hour of dodging and scramb- 


THE TURMOIL OF BATTLE 


151 


ling through patches of bramble-hushes, at an 
early hour I had reported at headquarters and 
gave the situation at the front as clearly as I 
could. Already, however, they had learned that 
disaster threatened. As is well known, a large 
number of our men were captured by the enemy 
and a great many killed and wounded. But the 
worst part of the affair was the demoralization 
which spread through the lines beyond. 

The plans of Washington had failed because 
of over-confidence, want of discipline and 
the lack of material, in his army, and the superior 
numbers and equipment of his enemy. It spoke 
volumes for the greatness of our commander 
that he was neither disheartened nor demoralized, 
but calmly made other plans and saw to their 
execution. 

There was fighting and obstinate defensive 
fighting, too, on the right side of the position at¬ 
tacked, as will be seen, but retreat was only a 
matter of a few hours for the whole line. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE RETREAT FROM LONG ISLAND 

W HEN I reached General Putnam’s 
headquarters I was surprised to find 
General Washington already there. 
At the first tidings of battle he had crossed the 
East River to enhearten and by his presence in¬ 
fuse confidence and courage into his troops. If 
there ever was a general who was the soul of an 
army, it was our Commander-in-Chief at that 
period. 

He had brought with him several strongly 
equipped regiments from other parts of the line, 
and after learning all he could of the critical 
situation from me and other aides, he ordered 
these to the front. 

While I was making my report to General 
Putnam, Washington, seemingly oblivious of my 
presence, was giving orders to other aides, but 
as I was about to leave he began to question me 
on points which I had not wholly covered in my 
report; thus showing that nothing essential in it 
had escaped him. After I had told of the dif¬ 
ficult position of General Sullivan he said: 

152 


THE RETREAT FROM LONG ISLAND 153 


“Can you get through to him?” 

“I will try, sir!” 

“Captain Gregory,” he commanded, “you 
must get through! Ride forward with my com¬ 
pliments to General Sullivan; say he must fall 
back to some strong place on the Heights, try to 
establish communications with his right, holding 
on and if possible, avoiding capture.” 

In the gloom and darkness of the storm I rode, 
until I found my progress retarded by the out¬ 
posts of the enemy. Dismounting, I cautiously 
led my horse into a thicket, which I had previ¬ 
ously marked, and crept forward, sometimes on 
my hands and knees, avoiding the enemy, by 
keeping to the most difficult briar thickets; for 
a single person can avoid dangers where a pla¬ 
toon would surely be captured. 

I was advancing a foot at a time, when I heard 
the click of a musket-lock and the sharp com¬ 
mand, “Halt! who goes there?” I flattened 
myself on the ground and listened intently. 
Was it an enemy call or that of our own men? 
I felt sure by the accent that it was the latter, 
and answered, “A friend with the countersign,” 
and standing erect found a Continental soldier 
on guard. 

After satisfying him, I asked, “Where can I 
find your general?” 

“Where the toughest fighting is,” he replied, 


154 


JACK GREGORY 


and then pointing out to me the direction, added, 
“He is a fighter, if nothing else.” 

I found General Sullivan with some difficulty, 
and gave him Washington’s orders. 

After a few questions about the situation at 
other parts of the line, he wrote a word or two 
with a pencil by the light of a lantern, and 
handed it to me saying: 

“Tell General Washington, with my compli¬ 
ments, that I have already fallen back as far as 
prudent; there is no safe place here, anyway, for 
the enemy is practically surrounding me. If I 
can not extricate my force I must surrender.” 

Adopting the same precautions as those 
by which I had come, I at last succeeded in reach¬ 
ing my commander and delivering my message. 

After reading the paper, listening to my ver¬ 
bal report, and asking a few questions, he 
ordered, “Ride to General Sterling, and say it 
is important to my plans that he should hold on 
as tenaciously as possible, even at the risk of 
capture, making offensive returns, and that I 
am sending him reinforcements.” 

Daylight had come, but with it no abatement 
of the terrific storm of rain and wind, as I went 
forward to deliver my message. 

I succeeded in finding General Sterling, and 
delivered the orders. “I have no time to make 
a proper detailed reply,” he replied; and then 


THE RETREAT FROM LONG ISLAND 155 


gave me the situation verbally, by which I learned 
that Colonel Huntington (my Norwich acquaint¬ 
ance) had successfully repelled one attack, but 
that the enemy was pressing him and that any 
permanent success was improbable. 

There was no abatement of the storm, but 
the tempest that had seemed so distressing made 
the enemy take to their tents and caused them 
to be less vigilant. 

On again reaching Washington I found him 
under the shelter of a tree issuing orders as 
calmly as when at headquarters at Cambridge. 

During that momentous day I accompanied 
him through the mud and flooded trenches with¬ 
out a respite of sleep or rest. Nothing appeared 
to disturb his placidity or relax his constant 
vigilance; cheering and advising his officers and 
men, he appeared to see and correct everything 
that was wrong and approved that which was 
commendable. He directed the strengthening of 
the defenses, censured slackness in discipline, 
and encouraged his men by personal words. 

While he undoubtedly knew the impossibility 
of holding this position, it was evident that he 
intended to make its capture as costly and diffi¬ 
cult as possible. 

When he learned of the surrender of General 
Sullivan, and later of the capture of General 
Sterling and other forces, it did not appear to 


156 


JACK GREGORY 


dishearten him though these officers and men 
were among the best of his army. For forty- 
eight hours, in storm and rain, he made the sen¬ 
try rounds in the flooded trenches. 

The storm that had driven the enemy to its 
tents he used to further his own plans, for he had 
before this determined to withdraw his army 
from Long Island to the New York shore. 

ITe had previously ordered General Mifflin to 
impress every craft fit for transportation and get 
it down to New York as soon as possible, dis¬ 
guising his purpose so it might appear that they 
were to bring reinforcements instead of to re¬ 
treat. By his foresight he provided that they 
should be manned by men experienced with boats 
from the coast towns of Massachusetts. He 
gave orders also to Quartermaster Hughes and 
Commissary General Trumbull to impress every 
craft that could convey troops and munitions 
and have them in the East River on time. 

Not until then, after making all his plans in 
detail, did he call a council of his officers, all of 
whom voted for retreat. 

At eight o’clock in the evening of the 29th, all 
his troops were ordered under arms as though 
about to attack. Then, leaving some of his best 
regiments in the trenches under command of 
General Mifflin to keep up an appearance of 


THE RETREAT FROM LONG ISLAND 157 


resistance, he began the withdrawal of his army. 

Trusted officers were posted on the Brooklyn 
shore to superintend the embarkment. From 
early evening until morning, in storm and dark¬ 
ness—the least disciplined of his troops going 
first—the men were marched to the Brooklyn 
coast. 

For a time I was on duty seeing that the boats 
were not overloaded. It was a perilous passage. 
The swift tide and heavy wind combined to make 
the crossing difficult and dangerous in the ex¬ 
treme. 

Despite this, we managed a swift conveyance 
of troops and material. At last, the elements 
as though discouraged at opposing so much 
persistency, began to favor the transportation. 
After midnight, the wind went down, the tide 
favorably changed, and the passage of troops 
and munitions went swiftly forward until every 
cannon and all munitions that could be drawn 
through the mud to the Brooklyn shore were 
conveyed to the New York side. 

But on the verge of safety, disaster threatened! 
By an almost calamitous misunderstanding the 
troops holding the trenches were ordered to be 
withdrawn! 

Turning to me as the nearest aide at hand 
Washington commanded, “Captain Gregory, 


158 


JACK GREGORY 


ride with all possible haste to General Mifflin, 
and say that his troops must at once return to 
their posts.” 

I knew the way, and so did my horse, and in 
less than twenty minutes had delivered the order. 
The guard line was reestablished before the 
enemy discovered their absence. This I re¬ 
ported soon after to our commander. 

When the quick retirement of the remaining 
troops and material was assured, I was again 
sent to General Mifflin—this time with orders 
for his rapid and silent withdrawal. 

Then the troops that had guarded the retreat, 
holding each other’s hands for safety, in the 
darkness descended the steep heights that led to 
Brooklyn Ferry and were speedily embarked. 

When they were on boats my commander, mo¬ 
tioning for me to go first, stepped on board and 
the boat was pushed from the shore. He was 
the last man of his army to embark. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


SPIED UPON BY THE ENEMY 


LTHOUGH I often served General 



Washington, I still remained on duty 


JL JL as aide to General Putnam, riding with 
orders to different parts of the line. He was 
doing all possible to hold Manhattan Island. 
To this purpose he had constructed across the 
river an obstruction of logs to prevent the pas¬ 
sage of ships up the Hudson; for as he wrote to 
the Commander-in-Chief, “If Howe gets to Al¬ 
bany our Northwestern Army must quit Ticon- 
deroga, or fall a sacrifice.” 

A novel project was also being considered 
which had the approval of General Washington, 
and of which I was first made aware by Job 
Tucker who came to me one afternoon bris¬ 
tling with the news, and as full of questions as a 
living interrogation point. 

“What’s Old Put goin’ to do about that there 
underwater thing they call the ‘Turtle’?’ he 
questioned. 

“I have never heard about it, Job!” 

“Wall, I have,” he asserted. “A feller from 


160 


JACK GREGORY 


Saybrook has contrived a contraption that a fel¬ 
ler can set in and row around under water with. 
He’s scared to death of it himself; couldn’t be 
hired to go under water in it; his brother has 
backed out from taking it, and now a friend of 
mine from Lyme is going to tackle the job, by 
gosh, of rowin’ that ‘marine turtle’ under water/’ 

“Who did you say it was, Job?” 

“Captain Ezra Lee. General Parsons of¬ 
fered him the job an’ he jumped at the chance, 
an’ is crazy about it! This here box turtle of a 
contraption holds only one man, an’ Ezra is goin’ 
down under the British ships an’ blow ’em up 
with bombs!” 

On inquiry I found that Job’s statement was 
substantially true. With Washington’s ap¬ 
proval, Lee had bravely accepted the service of¬ 
fered him by General Parsons, who was his cou¬ 
sin, and one night went down under the hostile 
fleet in the “Turtle” to find himself blocked from 
affixing a bomb to the slippery copper sheathing. 
He did succeed, nevertheless, in exploding a 
bomb under one of the ships, which so alarmed 
the fleet as to send them scurrying to the lower 
harbor. Lee himself escaped safely, to receive 
the congratulations of Washington; but there 
the attempt ended. 

“Gosh!” was Job’s comment; “Ez Lee has 


SPIED UPON BY THE ENEMY 161 


got some grit; but I can find trouble enough in 
the army without goin’ under water fer it!” 

From the first, however, the situation of our 
army in New York was untenable. The entire 
river front was exposed to incursions which could 
be made by the enemy more quickly than troops 
could be concentrated to repel them. 

General Putnam advised the fortification of 
Mount Washington, Harlem Heights, and the 
Jersey Shore; but nothing could remedy the 
weakness of his position on New York Island. 

Our commander recognized early in the 
struggle that it was his best policy to fight a de¬ 
fensive war and avoid general action—putting 
nothing to risk; and to that end never sparing 
pick and shovel. In this present emergency, 
however, he foresaw that if his army did not re¬ 
treat it would either be hemmed in or driven out. 

It was soon shown that it was the intention of 
the enemy to take positions in our rear, while 
their war craft held the front, and this action 
forced a quick decision. 

On the 10th of September Washington began 
the removal of valuable stores as a preparation 
for final retreat from the city. On the 13th 
several war craft passea^up the East River and 
under cover of a severe cannonade the British 
began landing troops at Kip’s Bay. 


162 


JACK GREGORY 


I had been sent to communicate with that part 
of the line and was a witness of the shameful 
demoralization of our troops there: they broke 
and ran at the first contact with the enemy and, 
in some instances, at the mere rumor of their 
coming. 

“What are you running for?” I rebuked one of 
them who had thrown away his musket and bag¬ 
gage to increase his speed. 

“Because I haven’t got a horse to ride!” was 
his almost breathless reply, as I drove my horse 
across his path to stop his retreat. 

“We are surrounded!” cried another whose 
coat-tails instead of his musket were pointing 
toward the enemy. 

The panic was contagious: men -who proved 
their courage on other fields, yielding to un¬ 
reasoning fear, threw away their muskets and 
baggage, and ran like terror-stricken sheep with 
wolves on their track, while the enemy was 
scarcely in sight. 

The needless loss in prisoners and material, in¬ 
cluding tents, camp kettles, and other articles 
needful for the comfort of soldiers made them 
rue their foolish panic for many a day. 

As a result of this break in the American lines, 
the British troops on the afternoon of the 14th 
of September occupied Murray Hill and began 


SPIED UPON BY THE ENEMY 163 


to establish posts across the island from Bloom- 
ingdale to Hell Gate. At four o’clock that same 
afternoon our (flag disappeared from Fort 
George, leaving the British in undisturbed pos¬ 
session of New York Island. 

Putnam’s troops of five thousand men that had 
covered the retreat, with other forces of our 
army, were by nightfall established on Harlem 
Heights. The day following, our men labored 
with pick and shovel to strengthen this post, in 
the pelting rain, and with the additional discom¬ 
fort of having no tents or cooking utensils to pro¬ 
tect and comfort them when their work was done. 

Our men had seen the foolishness bf their 
needless panic, and sooner than one would sup¬ 
pose recovered their courage. For on the morn¬ 
ing of the 16th, when the enemy had advanced 
with about a thousand men, they fought them 
staunchly. 

“Now is your chance to show the Hessians,” 
taunted General Putnam, “that you are men, not 
sheep!” And they did,—bravely attacking the 
enemy in the open field. 

It was during this spirited affair that an inci¬ 
dent occurred which especially concerns my 
story. During the skirmishing I had ridden to 
a rail fence skirted by brush occupied by our 
men, when I encountered Job Tucker holding by 


164 


JACK GREGORY 


the collar an uneasy, squirming prisoner, as I 
supposed, though he was in citizen dress, as were 
most of our Continental troops. 

“See here, Cap!” he exclaimed, “don’t you 
know this feller? I caught him screamin’ out, 
‘The Hessians are after us! They’ll murder the 
whole of us! They don’t take any prisoners!’ 
and all such tarnation stuff to set our boys to 
runnin’! I jest caught him an’ he’s a spy, I 
guess.” 

“Aren’t you assuming things hard to prove, 
Job?” 

“Gosh no, Cap. Don’t you know him?” asked 
Job, and then explained: “He is the same chap 
that has been nosing around after you. An’ a 
feller told me he saw him in the muss when the 
boys run the other day, yellin’ out about the Hes¬ 
sians being after them, and such dummed stuff.” 

I recognized him at once. He was the intru¬ 
sive stranger that I had met on my way while 
riding from Norwalk to New York; and one of 
the men, I had reason to believe, who had fired at 
me on Long Island. 

“Keep hold of him, Job,” I cautioned; “don’t 
let him get away.” 

“He’s as slippery as an eel,” said Job giving 
him an extra twist of his coat collar, and almost 
jerking him from his feet. 

All the assurance which had characterized him 


SPIED UPON BY THE ENEMY 


165 


at our first meeting appeared to have deserted 
the fellow, and he was abject, trembling and 
thoroughly frightened. 

“Stand up like a man!” commanded Job, at 
the same time jerking at the man’s collar so as 
to make the command impossible to obey. 

“Now you tell Captain Gregory,” continued 
Job, “what you were doing spying on him and 
skulking around here?” 

At the word spy the man winced and protes¬ 
ted, “I am not a spy; I am a British citizen.” 

“Then what are you doing among our sol¬ 
diers?” I sternly questioned. 

“I got caught among them while I was coming 
from the shore where our troops landed.” 

“Do you mean King George’s soldiers?” 

He trembled at having fallen into a trap. 
Then turning to me with an assumption of bold¬ 
ness he said: “You get me out of this, and I’ll 
tell you something you’d like to know.” 

“What is it about?” I asked sharply; for my 
duties did not allow me to linger. 

“There’s a fellow in Boston who paid me and 
three other men to keep an eye on you. I’m not 
spying on the army. I’m working for him.” 

“Why don’t he do such jobs himself?” I re¬ 
plied in disgust. For I instantly sensed some of 
Bob Learning’s rascality. “Take him to head¬ 
quarters,” I commanded Job; “possibly General 


166 


JACK GREGORY 


Putnam may get some information from him.” 

And Job led his squirming, resisting prisoner 
away, saying over his shoulder as he left, 

“I ain’t in favor of hangin’ this chap without 
more evidence, but I think a smart lickin’ would 
do him good.” 

I made no reply, but as our folks had just got 
word of the hanging of Captain Nathan Hale, as 
a spy, I doubt if he got away with a whole skin. 


CHAPTER XIX 


I BECOME AN AIDE TO WASHINGTON 

O N the twelfth of October, General Howe 
began a movement from the coast of 
Long Island across Hudson River, 
where his shipping lay, with the purpose of cut¬ 
ting off the American army from New York and 
New England; a movement which, if successful, 
would also put him in water communication with 
New York. 

While the British army advanced with this 
design, Washington abandoned Manhattan Is¬ 
land, leaving a small garrison at Fort Washing¬ 
ton—a hastily and roughly constructed earth¬ 
work—and forwarded all needed supplies to 
White Plains. Moving his army along the west 
banks of the Bronx River, he established earth¬ 
works so as to form a chain of posts the whole dis¬ 
tance, with the purpose of pressing his enemy to 
the coast. This wise action enabled him not only 
to operate on shorter interior lines but also to 
choose his own ground to fight his enemy. 

The British advance was by no means easy; 
along the narrow Bronx, now swollen by rains, 
167 


168 


JACK GREGORY 


were steep hills densely wooded, encumbered 
with entangling underbrush, briar and thorn, and 
furnishing lurking places for hostile riflemen. 
The roads were rough and poor, and the whole 
situation such as gave American soldiers who 
hung upon their flank an opportunity to harass 
and hinder their march, if not entirely to pre¬ 
vent it. 

I was detailed to take charge of our men oper¬ 
ating on a part of the road over which the Hes¬ 
sian cavalry was passing. As an inducement to 
our riflemen, a hundred dollars was offered to 
any one who should bring in an armed cavalry¬ 
man and his horse. 

In this game I had some advantage as I was 
skilled in rifle practice and knew how to take ad¬ 
vantage of an enemy by ambuscade. My men 
were established as systematically as possible, 
and having previously been over the ground I 
knew its by-paths and roads even where almost 
obliterated by briar patches and undergrowth. 

I was standing by my horse with my pistols 
ready, w T hile a rifle, which I might need, stood 
against a rock where I sheltered myself, when a 
Hessian trooper came hurriedly tramping 
through the brush. Before he saw me I had him 
covered. 

“Halt!” I commanded, “put up your hands! 


AN AIDE TO WASHINGTON 169 

Now right about face, and put your hands be¬ 
hind you.” 

He reluctantly obeyed; and first disarming 
him I tied his hands behind him, and had him 
at my mercy. But what was I to do with him? 
I could not leave my post, and could not kill a 
disarmed enemy, and had no inclination to do so 
unless greater peril to my life should urge it. 

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as 
though calculating his chances of an escape by a 
sudden rush. Taking my rifle I bade him be¬ 
ware. He evidently saw that I intended to 
use it. 

I was perplexed as to what to do about my 
prisoner, and almost regretting his possession, 
when Job Tucker with two horses and a Hessian 
trooper came bustling through the bushes, sweat¬ 
ing and glowing with pride and excitement. 

“Hullo, Job!” I called in a low tone, “Don’t 
make so much noise; the enemy have got ears as 
well as arms.” 

“Jerusalem!” he ejaculated in a hoarse whis¬ 
per as loud as an ordinary voice, “but I’ve had a 
good time! I got three of them, but one got 
away on his legs. I let my old hoss go to pas¬ 
ture where he pleased, now I’ve got a better one. 
An’ see here,” he continued shaking a flask of 
gin, “that’s some schnapps!” 


170 


JACK GREGORY 


“Look out, Job/’ I cautioned, “or it will kick 
worse than one of your horses.” 

“Gosh yesP’ he admitted. “I took a swaller 
and it scorched all the way down like a streak of 
lightnin’.” 

“Take this Hessian of mine and your own and 
go straight down that road and you will find 
headquarters at the fork. Ask them to send an 
aide with you to help me take care of prisoners, 
and then report to me again.” 

He rode away escorting both prisoners and 
soon reported back with a sergeant to assist me; 
but as Job declared, we found the Hessians 
scarce. 

I was satisfied with my day’s work. The en¬ 
emy had by no means had it all their own way, 
and had found that the use of Hessian troopers, 
on which they had so much relied, a hindrance 
rather than a help. But above all, the terror 
that at first had been inspired in our men by 
mounted Hessians proved but a bugbear, and be¬ 
came a subject of derision. 

I was not a little proud at the manner I had 
acquitted myself in directing the fight against 
the Hessian troopers, and was gratified that as a 
result of my report of Job’s conduct at that time, 
he was made a sergeant, and assigned to mounted 
scout duty; just the service he liked best and was 
best fitted for. 


AN AIDE TO WASHINGTON 


,171 


The situation of our army, in spite of some 
transient advantages gained, was discouraging. 
In a council of war held by Washington, October 
6th, it was determined that “as the obstructions 
of the Hudson River had proved impotent 
against the passage of the enemy’s ships, it was 
impossible to prevent their cutting off our com¬ 
munications . . . and also that Fort Washing¬ 
ton be held as long as possible, to hinder the en¬ 
emy.” On the 2nd, Washington established his 
headquarters at White Plains on Chatterton 
Hill, and directed the strengthening of its de¬ 
fences. 

Several times I met him riding there, with the 
immovable, but placid expression on his face so 
characteristic of him when resolved on a bold 
course of action, or again with abstracted look 
and bowed head as though working out in his 
mind some perplexing problem. 

On one such meeting he reined in his horse and 
returning my salute asked, “Captain Gregory, 
would you like to be transferred to other duties?” 

“I am willing to obey your orders, General, 
whatever they are.” 

“I am in need of such an officer as you under 
my personal direction,” he said. 

What a thrill his quiet words gave me! I 
bowed consent and said, “It would please me 
very much.” 


172 


JACK GREGORY 


As a result of this, in a few days I was trans¬ 
ferred by his order from Putnam’s staff to Wash¬ 
ington’s immediate command. It was the one 
service of all others that I would have chosen— 
and even now as I chronicle it I cannot conceal 
a glow of pride. 

That I admired and reverenced him above all 
men does not convey in full my regard for him; 
for words are impotent to record so deep a re¬ 
spect and love. This was common to all who 
came under his influence. And now I was to 
fight by his side! I felt that I would cheerfully 
go to my death with him. 

The military situation at that time was acute; 
the superiority of the enemy in discipline, arms 
and equipment was almost overwhelming. But 
despite these gloomy conditions our commander 
stood firm. He was in one of those moods when 
he invited battle. His forces, at least in num¬ 
bers, equaled his enemy; his position at Fort 
Washington was strong, and he desired to infuse 
confidence and hopefulness in his troops by a 
possible victory. It was worth the venture. 

The battle began with a cannonade which had 
little effect on either army. 

General Howe, with the purpose of dislodging 
the Americans, charged up the difficult hill on 
which rested our fortifications. He was met by 
a sharp fire from our riflemen, and a well di- 


AN AIDE TO WASHINGTON 


173 


rected cannonading from two guns commanded 
by Captain Alexander Hamilton. While the 
British wavered under this cross attack the Hes¬ 
sian troops under Rahl dashed forward with sud¬ 
den impetus capturing the summit. 

Our troops overwhelmed, fell back to a posi¬ 
tion which Washington had prepared in advance, 
and where the enemy could not pursue without 
being isolated from their main army. 

A storm of wind and rain came up, under 
cover of which Washington fell back the next 
night to Castle Heights where twice their force 
could not dislodge him. 

Forts Washington and Lee on the opposite 
side of the river effectively barred Howe's com¬ 
munications with New York by land, hence it 
was necessary for him to capture them. On the 
5th of November, by the use of flatboats and 
barges, he moved on Fort Washington, reaching 
Kingsbridge by way of Spuyten Duyvil Creek. 
The result was inevitable and Fort Washington 
surrendered after a brief contest. The capture 
of Fort Lee soon followed. Thus our army was 
driven, with loss of material and prestige, from 
New York and its vicinity. 

Our position which before this was critical now 
became almost hopeless. We had but three 
thousand effective men composed mostly of mili¬ 
tia, whose term of service was about to expire. 


174 


JACK GREGORY 


They were ill armed, worse clad, and almost 
without cooking utensils or blankets or tents. In 
a hurried retreat from Hackensack we were 
forced to abandon much of this equipment. 

It was under these conditions that the Amer¬ 
ican army fell back toward Newark. 

Urging General Lee, whom he had left with 
a division at North Castle to join him, and mak¬ 
ing earnest request for reinforcements, Washing¬ 
ton retreated to New Brunswick and then to 
Trenton, the British army under Cornwallis fol¬ 
lowing closely all the way. 

I remember that as we passed through Newark 
I was sent back with an urgent message to the 
rearguard; and so close was the enemy upon our 
flank that some of the first line fired at me. As I 
rode along I made a fair target, and if the British 
could have shot as accurately as our own men, I 
would not be penning these lines today. 


CHAPTER XX 


A HAZARDOUS ADVENTURE 

W ITH the forced retreat through New 
Jersey the sun of American inde¬ 
pendence seemed about to go down 
forever. Lord Cornwallis in order to hasten the 
collapse of our cause promised pardon and pro¬ 
tection to those who should return to their alle¬ 
giance to British rule. Many men of large 
estates did so, believing the cause of American 
liberty doomed, while the middle classes and poor 
remained firm to the patriot cause, refusing to 
take advantage of the enemy’s proclamation. 

It was soon apparent to those who had sub¬ 
mitted to the enemy that the remedy for their 
ills was illusive. The English gave little heed 
to their promise of protection, but behaved ar¬ 
rogantly, and with all the insolence of conquer¬ 
ors. Homes were invaded, provisions seized, 
women ill-treated, and the promised safeguard 
proved a mockery. Under such conditions these 
people began to regret their submission. 

Before an enemy of thirty thousand men, well 
equipped and flushed with success, Washington, 
175 


176 


JACK GREGORY 


with his wretchedly appointed army, destitute 
and miserable, continued to fall back. 

Winter was setting in, and the British com¬ 
mander, comtemptuous of an enemy whom he 
expected to destroy at his convenience and lei¬ 
sure, did not contemplate the inconvenience of a 
winter campaign, but disposed his troops in scat¬ 
tered cantonments, without regard to any nat¬ 
ural support or security. 

Washington was quick to see this opportunity 
and to plan a way to turn it to his advantage. 
Not once as I rode along by his side had I ever 
heard him acknowledge defeat. Instead, I was 
amazed to hear him calmly planning an attack 
with his ragged troops. 

“For now,” he said, “that their wings are 
spread, is the time to clip them.” 

“Captain Gregory,” he said turning to me sud¬ 
denly, “I am about to require from you a serv¬ 
ice in which I must rely absolutely upon your 
discretion. The condition of our army requires 
great efforts and possibly great sacrifices. I am 
about to attack the enemy at an unexpected quar¬ 
ter; and it is needful to my plans first to pro¬ 
cure correct and minute information. I wish to 
obtain through you the exact number of troops 
and their location at Bordentown and Trenton. 
I leave you to select men in whom you have full 
confidence to assist you. All details as to the 


A HAZARDOUS ADVENTURE 


177 


manner in which this is to be done I leave to your 
discretion. Can I depend on you for this duty?” 

“With my life, General,” I replied thrilled and 
proud of his confidence. 

Then he informed me of several patriots inside 
the British lines to whom I could look for assist¬ 
ance in case of necessity. . 

I at once requested a detail for this service of 
several men upon whom I could rely. Among 
these were Sergeants Job Tucker, Stephen Betts, 
John Buxton, and a young Norwalk man named 
Homer Byington. 

I instructed my men to divest themselves of 
all that could identify them as soldiers; not even 
allowing them or myself a pistol or hunting knife 
for protection. I carried for defense only a rid¬ 
ing whip with loaded handle. 

To Sergeant Betts I gave, with two trusted 
men of his own chosing and of my approval, the 
task of finding out about the cantonment at Bor- 
dentown. 

For myself, with Private Byington and Ser¬ 
geant Tucker, I assumed the more important and 
dangerous task of obtaining information about 
the troops and encampment under Colonel Rahl 
at Trenton. 

“Gosh!” protested Job, “ain’t I going to have 
my own horse?” 

“No,” I answered, “it is a Hessian horse and 


178 


JACK GREGORY 


might be recognized.” But he was given the 
choice of a dozen good horses from the head¬ 
quarters stable. 

“Now, Job,” I said, “remember that you are a 
Jersey farmer who works on my farm, and that 
I am Charles Van Winkle who has an estate 
above the falls on the Passaic River; and that we 
have submitted to the British government and 
put our property and persons under its protec¬ 
tion.” 

Without incident worthy of recording here, I 
crossed the Delaware at McConkey Ferry, and 
had an understanding with the ferryman there to 
make ready for me in case I returned in hurry 
and in peril. He assented to my orders with a 
nod of his head, and I felt greater confidence in 
him because he did not talk. 

We found no difficulty in passing the guards 
and reaching Trenton and the Hessian encamp¬ 
ment. We left our horses just outside the 
guard, and with Byington in care of them went 
to Colonel Rahl’s headquarters and requested an 
interview on business. 

“So far, so easy,” I remarked as we passed 
through the town. 

“By thunder, yes!” retorted Job, “It’s a 
darned sight easier sometimes to get into a 
bumble-bee’s nest than to get out again.” 


A HAZARDOUS ADVENTURE 


179 


“If we don’t get out again it will be worse for 
us than a bumble-bee nest!” I retorted. 

He said not a word in reply, but I saw him be¬ 
gin to sweat, cold as it was. 

I wrote my assumed name on a card and sent 
it in to Colonel Rahl, and was, with Job, admit¬ 
ted to his presence. 

“What is your name and business?” interro¬ 
gated that officer, turning sharply upon me. 

“I am Charles Van Winkle, sir,” I replied, 
“as my card has informed you, and this is my 
servant, Job Tucker. My business is to obtain 
a contract, if possible, to supply your troops 
with provisions.” 

“Why do you wish to sell to us?” 

“To confess the truth, Colonel,” I declared 
steadily, “there is no other desirable market for 
my produce.” 

“What have you to supply?” 

I took a memorandum from my pocket and 
carefully laid it before him, explaining, “I antici¬ 
pated such an inquiry, you perceive, and am pre¬ 
pared to answer your very natural question.” 

“Have you dealt with the rebels ever?” 

“Yes, Colonel,” I confessed boldly, “but not 
since I have given assurance of loyalty to the 
British government and put myself and prop¬ 
erty under their promised protection.” 


180 


JACK GREGORY 


He eyed me suspiciously as I made this an¬ 
swer. 

I was disappointed in Colonel Rahl; having 
expected to find in him an easy-going, careless 
gentleman, and not the keen-eyed, energetic sol¬ 
dier that confronted me. Under other condi¬ 
tions of mind than that which possessed me, I 
might have been daunted and confused by his 
dominating personality. But in my mood I was 
indifferent to danger and reckless of anything 
but attaining success in my mission. Every¬ 
thing was merged in this desire. 

“From your estate,” commented Colonel Rahl, 
“You cannot possibly furnish supplies except 
in a very limited way.” 

“No,” I agreed, “but I can command those of 
my neighbors and friends, with whom I am a man 
of influence and trust. If nothing more, I can 
supply from my farm, as you will see by the list 
before you, sufficient poultry, eggs, sweet-cured 
smoked bacon, beef, lamb and vegetables for the 
officers of your command.” 

“I have under my command less than two 
thousand men, say one thousand five hundred in 
this cantonment. I will be glad to have you 
supply my officers’ mess. How soon can you 
let me have a memorandum of your ability to 
supply my troops?” 

“Soon as I have conferred with my neighbors,” 


A HAZARDOUS ADVENTURE 


181 


I replied, “and can assure you in advance that I 
am willing to sign a contract now with that in 
view. But if you insist I will return as soon as 
possible with a list of supplies that can be posi¬ 
tively relied upon. I may be able to give this 
in two weeks or before, and by Christmas any¬ 
way.” 

“Before I leave,” I added, at the conclusion 
of this business, “I have some information to 
communicate. It may be of consequence and it 
may not. It has been hinted to me by a rebel 
officer that you are to be attacked as soon as the 
weather moderates.” 

“Oh ho!” he laughed sarcastically, “that is 
news indeed!” 

“Well,” I said apologetically, “I considered 
it my duty to tell you what I have heard; it may 
be mere talk or rumor.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Winkle, for your good 
intentions; it shows your loyalty if nothing else,” 
he said extending his hand in parting. But 
there was something with all his cordiality of 
speech that made me suspicious of him; I did 
not like the look in his eye. 

We parted with the understanding that I was 
to return in the course of three weeks and con¬ 
clude my contract and give bonds for its per¬ 
formance. 

When I reached my horse with Job, I was 


182 JACK GREGORY 

confronted by a fat-faced Hessian officer with 
the question: “Where did you get that horse?” 

“Raised him,” I replied looking him in the 
eye sternly. 

“Oh,” he retorted impudently, “we will see 
about that, sir.” 

“If you care to,” I replied, making a motion 
for Job and Byington to mount as I had done, 
“but just at present I am in a hurry. Mean¬ 
while this list of provisions will explain my er¬ 
rand to Colonel Rahl,” and with this remark I 
brushed away his hand from my horse’s bridle. 

“You don’t ride like a farmer,” he persisted. 
“I noticed it when you rode into camp.” 

“Thank you,” I replied, “I flatter myself that 
I ride well; I was born almost in a saddle. 
Please stand aside, sir!” 

But he did not obey and clutched at my bri¬ 
dle resolutely. 

I made a motion for Job and Byington to go 
on. 

When in danger thought moves with light¬ 
ning speed. I felt rather than reasoned that 
his conduct was not without orders. 

With a quick movement I reversed my whip 
and brought the loaded end crashing on to his 
skull, and at the same time was off like a flash, 
spurring my horse to action and crying, “Ride 
for your lives, men!” 






WE DID NOT SLACKEN OUR PACE 





A HAZARDOUS ADVENTURE 


183 


I had not gone far before a sentinel attempted 
to stop us. He brought up his musket crying, 
“Halt!” I swerved my horse and drove over 
him, striking him as I went. 

There was now a hue and cry behind us. I 
heard the sharp crack of rifles and the buzz of 
bullets; but we did not slacken our pace. The 
ferryman saw us coming, threw out his gang¬ 
plank, and we were soon all aboard. I took one 
of the oars, Job another, the ferryman steered, 
while Byington assumed a threatening air over 
him, as the enemy reached the shore and called 
upon him to return. 

The advance horsemen had only pistols and we 
were soon beyond their range. 

“Jerusalem!” ejaculated Job, “but that was 
some streaking!” 

“Yes,” I assented, “but it would have been 
some hanging if we hadn’t streaked!” 

“Gosh yes!” said Job; “that critter of a Hes¬ 
sian wanted your horse!” 

We were on the eastern banks of the Dela¬ 
ware by this time, and the Hessians could not 
reach us without boats. So the rest of the way 
back to our own camp was easy. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF ARMS 

T HROUGH my adventurous visit to 
Colonel Rahl’s camp at Trenton I had 
been able to locate accurately his forces, 
his measures for defense, and from his own lips 
had learned the number of his troops, and much 
other information of value to Washington, in his 
proposed attack. 

We were charged to say nothing of our visit 
to anyone, but Job seemed possessed at every 
moment when alone with me to talk about it. 

“Gosh!” he said, “I don’t know what kind of 
snuff the General is up to, but if he thinks of 
shooting up that Hessian camp, seems to me he’s 
got a sneezer.” 

“Hush up, Job!” I cautioned. “Some one 
will hear you.” 

“Ain’t a feller never goin’ to be allowed to say 
nothin’, after puttin’ his head in the lion’s mouth, 
as a feller might call it?” 

“Wait, Job,” I said, “and if I am not mistaken 
you will soon have enough you can talk about to 
use up all the breath you may have to spare.” 

184 


A GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF ARMS 185 


“Gosh!” exclaimed Job, “You don’t really 
think a cautious feller like our General will dare 
to—?” 

“Shut up. Job!” I ordered sharply; “and 
don’t, on your peril, ever mention anything you 
suspicion again. Keep your mouth shut before 
you spill your wits and do harm.” 

“Jerusalem, Cap! can’t a feller think out loud 
after goin’ through a scrape that scared him to 
death?” 

“Wait,” I said in a low voice, “and you’ll get 
a chance, if I am not mistaken, to talk about 
something worth while. Don’t open your 
mouth about your suspicions again. If you blab 
any more I will put you in the stocks!” 

Washington had commented on the thorough¬ 
ness of my report, and I was so vain as to believe 
that the failure of the other divisions afterwards 
was caused for the want of just such minute in¬ 
formation. 

December, 1776 , was perhaps the most critical 
period during the American war. The constant 
retreat of our forces had brought morale to a low 
ebb. It looked as though the revolution had been 
crushed. But out of the disaster to our army 
some good had resulted. The public saw that 
further sacrifices were imperative; and Congress 
learned the necessity of leaving the conduct of 
the war in the hands of its Commander-in-Chief. 


186 


JACK GREGORY 


Adversity unbound the hands of Washington 
from interference that had hitherto weakened 
his power to achieve decisive results. 

The headquarters of our army at this time was 
at Newtown. Washington’s plan for attack on 
the British—as made in a secret session which I 
was fortunate enough to attend, because of my 
visit to Rahl’s camp,—was as follows: A di¬ 
vision under General Cadwalader was to cross 
the Delaware at Bristol; a second division under 
General Irving was to cross at Trenton Ferry; 
and a third under Washington himself was to 
cross the river at McConkey Ferry which was 
not far from headquarters. 

But the first two divisions failed in their pur¬ 
pose. General Cadwalader through not under¬ 
standing the state of the tide failed to effect a 
landing, because of the heaps of ice that encum¬ 
bered the shore. General Irving did not get his 
boats through the ice on the river, and gave it up 
in the belief that Washington would be equally 
unsuccessful. Thus both auxiliary forces failed 
the Commander-in-Chief. His division alone 
was to make a historic passage and achieve a 
brilliant victory. 

It was cold and cloudy with threatening storm 
as we were drawn up on parade in the gathering 
darkness of the evening. The password given 
out by Washington himself to me, to pass along 


A GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF ARMS 187 


to the various captains reflected his grim deter¬ 
mination. It was, “Victory or death!” 

There were twenty-five hundred men in our 
ranks. Some were young soldiers just entering 
upon their career, careless of danger because 
they knew nothing of it. Others were old sol¬ 
diers in rags and whose shoes imperfectly pro¬ 
tected their feet from the frozen ground; men 
who had kept their faith since first they stood 
fire at Breed’s Hill. All were ill-clad; even their 
worn blankets poorly protecting them from the 
severity of the cold. 

Among the officers were the brave Stark, of 
Bunker Hill; the intrepid Glover, of Marble¬ 
head, who with keen sailor’s gleam had safely 
directed our boats in the retreat from Long 
Island to the New York shores; Webb and 
William Washington and James Monroe—tried 
men of faith and constancy; and many another 
man of desperate resolution, undaunted by trial 
and danger. Washington had infused into them 
something of his own faith and courage for 
this desperate chance. 

The order was to cross the river. Instructions 
were short, imperative, and perilous of execution. 
The current was swift. A thaw of several days 
had loosened the ice and set it adrift in blocks 
endangering our boats. It was exceedingly 
ticklish work. 


188 


JACK GREGORY 


I was one of the first to cross, as it devolved 
upon me to show the way. After I had crossed 
with my horse, which I put in charge of Private 
Homer Byington, I recrossed with Captain 
Glover to assist in the conveyance of the artil¬ 
lery. 

The passage with guns was perilous. With 
preponderating weight above the boat gunwales 
it made them top-heavy and unsteady. At one 
time while I was steering with an oar a gun got 
loose and, rolling forward, was checked by a 
handspike, only to roll back crashing through the 
oarsmen to the stern! Here fortunately it was 
stopped and fixed in place without further in¬ 
jury than breaking thwarts and bruising several 
of our men. 

It was three o’clock in the morning before the 
guns were landed, and not until an hour after¬ 
ward that we began our march on Trenton. 

It was an unusually cold night. The snow 
that had begun to fall earlier, now, as we began 
the march, gave place to blinding sleet and 
stinging hail with a fierce wind from the north. 
At Bear Tavern, after a march of a mile or more, 
we reached the direct road to Trenton. Facing 
the bitter gale, freezing and shivering, the frozen 
sleet gathering on our clothing, faces, and mus¬ 
kets, we reached Birmingham, four miles further 
on our way. 


A GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF ARMS 189 


The very elements seemed unfriendly, and yet 
they were actually aiding us to surprise the foe. 
Word came from General Sullivan to Washing¬ 
ton, “Our muskets are wet!” 

“Tell your General,” ofrdered Washington, 
“they must use their bayonets. We must get to 
the enemy in the town. It must be taken!” 

At this point General Sullivan’s division took 
the river road with only four miles further march 
to make. Washington and General Green, with 
their forces, turned to the left on the Scotch 
road and were soon in Pennington, one mile 
from Trenton. 

I marched on foot leading my horse. It kept 
up circulation, for there was danger of freezing. 
Most of us were in direful plight. The sleet 
that had saturated our clothing was frozen by 
the cold, literally encrusting us, in many cases, 
in ice. Beards were frozen except where our 
warming breath thawed at mouth and nostrils. 

But when the enemy pickets were encountered 
on the main road a short distance from Trenton 
and fled before our advance, hardships were for¬ 
gotten, as we hurriedly pursued. Dashing 
ahead of us into the camp they gave the alarm, 
and instantly the sleeping army burst into up¬ 
roar like an angry hornet’s nest. But the Hes¬ 
sians had partaken of a bountiful Christmas 
dinner, and their eyes were heavy with sleep. 


190 


JACK GREGORY 


As their officers tried to form them into line they 
obeyed sluggishly. 

Our men advanced with fierce exulting cries, 
“We’ve got ’em! Drive them! Down with the 
Hessians!” There was desultory firing from 
the enemy, to which our men replied by rushing 
forward with fixed bayonets and scattering 
musket fire. 

Colonel Knox had now, under Washington’s 
direction, got a battery of six guns at the angle 
that unites King and Queen Streets running 
southward, and opened fire down both of these 
streets upon the Hessians. 

The enemy took post for a time in a large 
house at the junction of the streets; but the 
American artillery and riflemen soon drove them 
out. When they stopped to form on the open 
spaces, our artillery scattered them like autumn 
leaves before a gale. They were under the dis¬ 
advantage that the range of their muskets did 
not avail them against the greater range of our 
artillery. 

At one point when brave Colonel Rahl at¬ 
tempted to get two guns into action, our men 
under Lieutenant Monroe charged, driving 
away the gunners and capturing the guns before 
the Hessians could rally to protect them. 

The Hessian forces were now in a hopeless 
position. Colonel Stark by capturing the bridge, 


A GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF ARMS 191 


had cut off their retreat towards Bordentown, 
then swinging around marched up Assanpink 
Creek. General Sullivan entered the town 
on Front and Second Streets. The enemy, be¬ 
tween two fires, was hopelessly entrapped and 
beaten and their commander killed. Forced into 
the open field the whole command surrendered. 

The American losses in battle were light be¬ 
yond belief; only two were killed and three 
wounded, and two of the latter were officers, 
which showed that they actually led in the fight. 

The battle was over in an hour; its fruits of 
victory were a thousand or more prisoners; the 
rejuvenation of the American cause with hope 
and renewed confidence, and consequent loss of 
confidence of its foes. The sun of American lib¬ 
erty, so long dimmed by clouds of defeat, once 
more appeared in brighter skies. 

Our men were exultant. They got good food 
from the Hessian barracks and warmth from 
their fires. Their triumphant success in the face 
of discouragement, of storm and cold and ex¬ 
haustion, was such as only heroes led by a hero 
experience. 

But their task was not completed. They 
were yet to make a counter march through the 
snow in the intense cold to the point from which 
they had started. With a thousand Hessian 
prisoners we reached headquarters at Newtown 


192 


JACK GREGORY 


at nightfall that day; having marched thirty miles 
since the evening before. 

Many were suffering from frozen hands and 
feet and a collapse of energies as a result of that 
march and battle; but their souls were glowing 
with pride and exaltation, in their great victory. 

Job Tucker complained bitterly of his toes that 
the “gol-darned red-coats had put a crimp in at 
[Breed’s Hill. Them two toes,” he complained, 
“are finished for life. They never will amount 
to shucks as toes ag’in; the darned cold has taken 
all the gimp out of them.” 

“Can’t anything be done for them?” I sym¬ 
pathetically inquired. 

“Gosh! not that I know of. Some of Ma¬ 
tilda’s doughnuts might help a little.” 

“But think of the glory we got in that fight, 
Job!” I reminded. 

“Glory!” he repeated, with a sniff of con¬ 
tempt, “’tain’t worth a darn for frost-bites!” 

And that was the opinion of more than one 
victim of frozen fingers and toes among those 
that marched on Trenton that Christmas night. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE BATTLE OF PRINCETON 

F OLLOWING the Battle of Trenton I 
had seasons of illness. Though they did 
not appear to be serious my friend, Gen¬ 
eral Mercer, thought they indicated a collapse of 
energy that might prove dangerous. 

Between Hugh Mercer and myself there had 
sprung up a friendship that grew stronger the 
more we saw of each other. He had been bred 
as a surgeon in the armies of Europe and was a 
practising physician in Virginia when the war 
for Independence began. He enlisted to serve 
his adopted country, and since that time had 
steadily advanced in rank and in the good opin¬ 
ion of Washington, with whom he had previ¬ 
ously served in border wars. He was a fine 
swordsman, and we had many friendly fencing 
bouts. 

Mercer declared, very emphatically, that my 
physical condition required attention. We had 
been engaged in a friendly contest, and he was 
about to leave when Sergeant Job Tucker came 
into my quarters excitedly waving a paper ex- 
193 


194 


JACK GREGORY 


claiming, “Say, Captain Gregory, I guess you 
want to see this. It’s good for frost bites!” 

“Don’t you see, Sergeant,” I reproved, “that 
there is a general officer present?” 

“Gosh, yes,” he acknowledged coming to a 
salute, and explaining, “excuse me, General, but 
I’ve got a letter from my girl.” 

“That’s excuse enough, my good man,” re¬ 
plied the General laughing heartily; and still 
smiling he shook hands with me and departed. 

This little incident is impressed on my mind 
for it was the last time that I saw him alive. 

We were soon on our way through the mud 
of a midwinter thaw; and on the first day of Jan¬ 
uary, 1777, were once more at Trenton. 

Since the battle of Trenton our army had 
gained in morale, and also in numbers, and now 
had five thousand men in its ranks. The spirit 
of resistance was fully awakened in Pennsyl¬ 
vania and New Jersey, and with it greater con¬ 
fidence in final success. 

Information had been received that the Brit¬ 
ish Army, now thoroughly aroused, was on its 
way from Brunswick under General Cornwallis 
to attack us. 

Washington saw at once that all he had 
gained would be sacrificed by a hasty with¬ 
drawal; and that his enemy might by crossing 
the river in swift movement capture Philadel- 


THE BATTLE OF PRINCETON 


195 


phia. He therefore fell back on the approach of 
the British to Assanpink Creek, now swollen 
by thaw and rain. 

At the bridge he established several pieces of 
artillery, supported by reliable troops, with 
guards at the fords and other places along the 
creek to observe the enemy. A mile in advance, 
near Trenton and Five Mile Creek, Colonel 
Hand and his riflemen and other supports held 
good defensive positions. The thaw that had 
set in made the movement of troops over muddy 
roads, slow and difficult. 

The British, eager to retrieve their defeat at 
Trenton, were pressing upon the heels of the 
American army, to attack and overwhelm it; an 
onset which Washington’s army largely made 
up of militia and raw recruits was little able to 
withstand. 

General Green opened a sharp fire with his 
advanced artillery and succeeded in holding 
them back until it was too late for the British 
to assail that day. It was sunset before Corn¬ 
wallis began to press the American lines at As¬ 
sanpink Creek. 

In attempting to assault he found his enemy 
so alert and determined that he was checked in 
three separate efforts to force a passage at the 
bridge. Sending back for reinforcements he 
gave over the attempt until morning, confident 


196 


JACK GREGORY 


that he would 4 ‘bag the old fox at last.” But the 
fox did not wait to be bagged. 

When darkness set in, Washington left his 
sentries to stand watch, and keep his camp-fires 
burning; then by a circuitous march through 
Allentown he proceeded to Princeton, in the rear 
of the British. 

The elements favored the Americans. In¬ 
stead, as was feared, of being obliged to leave 
artillery, baggage and munitions, because of the 
depth of the muddy road, intense cold set in, 
freezing the ground, so as to give a solid surface 
for the marching troops. 

Though our men looked upon this as provi¬ 
dential, it was a great hardship. Many of them 
without shoes left bloody tracks on the frozen 
ground, but though shivering in the piercing 
winter blasts, they pressed on. 

When morning came Cornwallis learned to 
his astonishment and dismay that Washington 
was threatening the British supplies at Prince¬ 
ton. 

Our Commander had learned that the great 
magazine of British stores at Brunswick was im¬ 
perfectly guarded, and hoped to capture them. 
His advance reached Stoney Creek about sun¬ 
rise the next morning, reformed its columns, 
sent word to General Mercer to hurry his march 


THE BATTLE OF PRINCETON 


197 


by the Quaker road to the left, and thus quicken 
the move on Brunswick. 

While advancing to destroy the bridges on the 
creek, and thus retard pursuit from Trenton, 
Mercer was suddenly confronted by British 
troops that had received the order of Cornwallis 
to join him. They had reached the summit of a 
hill, and saw Mercer’s small command passing in 
front of an orchard. The army of Washington 
was not then in sight. 

On recrossing Stoney Creek, Mercer dis¬ 
covered Colonel Manhood’s British troops a few 
hundred yards from him, and hurried his own 
troops to a fence that crossed the hill, and opened 
fire. The enemy returned the fire and rushed 
upon the Americans with the bayonet. Our 
march-weary men, who had been on foot for 
hours, broke and fell back to high ground near 
a Quaker meeting-house. 

Washington, whom I had followed, compre¬ 
hending the critical situation, hurried additional 
troops with two guns to the scene. They were 
attacked with such impetuosity that a portion of 
the line gave way. Realizing that defeat at that 
time meant the destruction of the last hope of 
his cause, our Commander spurred his horse far 
to the front and sat there, under fire between the 
two lines, like a statue of bronze, immovable. 


198 


JACK GREGORY 


This desperate appeal found immediate an¬ 
swer. His men rallied, formed in line, and re¬ 
turned the enemy’s fire. 

I held my breath, expecting the instant death 
of our Commander, but beheld, as the white sul¬ 
phur smoke drifted away, Washington un¬ 
harmed, and the enemy flying in defeat! 

As his officers rushed forward, he called out: 
“Order up the troops and pursue; the day is 
ours!” 

The fighting that followed was sharp and de¬ 
cisive. Abandoning their cannon, the foe took 
position on high ground where a ravine pro¬ 
tected them. Our artillerymen brought up guns 
and quickly scattered them in flight. The action 
was as brief as it was momentous. The whole 
battle occupied but a half hour or less. 

However, we lost in that battle valuable offi¬ 
cers, among whom was General Mercer, who was 
mortally wounded and who died in the hands of 
the enemy. Nor did I escape unscathed: in 
the last infantry fire at our broken lines a bullet 
struck me in the left shoulder, a wound which 
proved serious, though in the excitement of bat¬ 
tle I gave it little heed. 

The British loss was heavy, exceeding over a 
hundred killed and wounded, including fourteen 
officers, with two hundred and thirty prisoners. 

Our men were cold, hungry, and worn with 


THE BATTLE OF PRINCETON 199 

fatigue, and it was not thought prudent to march 
on Brunswick to capture the enemy stores, where 
we might encounter the whole British army un¬ 
der Cornwallis. Instead, we pitched camp at 
Morristown; while the British were content to 
withdraw to Brunswick, where they could be in 
touch with New York by water. From being 
the pursuers, they almost became the pursued. 
The tables were completely turned. 

By judicious retreats, and quick action, at 
critical moments, our Commander-in-Chief had 
wrung victory from defeat, and proved himself 
the peer of the trained generals of the British 
army. 

In the death of Hugh Mercer I had lost a 
friend whom I have never ceased to regret, 
as did all who knew this brave Scotchman who 
served his adopted country so well, and whose 
future was so full of promise. Mercer had been 
my friend and medical adviser. In the excite¬ 
ment of the ensuing weeks, I took no care of my¬ 
self. I was at my chief’s side day and night. 
At last worn by excessive fatigue and exposure, 
I fell sick with a fever that, coupled with my 
wound, threatened to be fatal. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 

I had been very ill. My wound and the fever 
I had contracted made my case, as old sur¬ 
geon Sawell declared, “very interesting 
and serious. ,, He had bled me for having too 
much blood, again for fever, and still more, as he 
said, “to start up my failing strength,” until 
with wound, physic, fever, and blood-letting, 
there was little left of me but bones. 

I remained under Sawell’s inflictions and care 
at Morristown until the following May, when 
Washington was about to move his head¬ 
quarters; it was then determined to move the 
Hospital to a place of greater safety. 

By order of the surgeon I had been kept from 
seeing my comrades for a long time; he declar¬ 
ing my strength must not be over-taxed. 

“Doctor,” I pleaded, “I want to see Sergeant 
Tucker and the rest of my friends when they 
come here; it will do me good.” 

“Possibly,” he replied stroking his underlip 
contemplatively with his forefinger and thumb: 
200 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 


201 


“Sometimes mental changes are as efficient as 
medication or bleeding.” 

“They can’t weaken me more,” I crossly de¬ 
clared. 

“It is not surprising, Captain,” he retorted 
stiffly, “that you can not appreciate the benef¬ 
icent operations of medication and surgery that 
have saved your life.” 

He consented, however, to my request, with 
the precaution that I was not to talk much for 
fear that excitement might nullify the benefits 
of medicine. So Job was admitted to see me. 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Job, removing his hat at 
seeing me as though at a funeral, “You are so 
peaked and pale, I thought at first you was 
dead!” 

“No, Job,” I said, “I am all here and alive, 
but no thanks”—I added, putting a finger to my 
lips for caution—“to that doctor. I’d been well 
before this if I could have got away from him.” 

“Gol ding it!” he declared sympathetically, 
“you ought to get away from this place.” 

“Yes,” I assented, “ ’Twould do me good to 
smell something cleaner than this hospital air.” 

“Say, Cap,” continued Job, “there’s talk of 
sending some of us Connecticut soldiers to help 
General Parsons drum up recruits. He’s in 
Hartford now. I guess I can get an order for 
the duty and take you with us to Norwalk.” 


202 


JACK GREGORY] 


“My!” I cried, “I would like that! The very 
thought of it makes me feel better already. 
Will you take a message for me to head¬ 
quarters, Job?” 

“You bet your hat!” he exclaimed. 

I was too weak to write a letter, and I saw the 
surgeon scowling in our direction; so I hurriedly 
whispered to Job that he was to see Washington 
himself, if possible, or one of his aides, and get 
me transferred. 

The next day as I lay propped up in bed, 
there was an unusual bustle outside, and in 
walked my General himself! He acknowledged 
the salutes and feeble cheers of other sufferers, 
but came straight to my cot escorted by the now 
obsequious Sawell. 

“My brave fellow!” he cried, as I tried weakly 
to salute; and he grasped both my hands in his 
big strong ones. I am not ashamed to say that 
the tears ran down my cheeks. It was not 
manly, but I was very weak. 

“You were my right hand, Captain Gregory,” 
he said generously, “and in the rush of details 
I have seemed to overlook you. Now what can 
I do for you?” 

“Sir, I want—to—go—home!” I said feebly. 
Again my actions seemed like those of a child 
instead of a man; but my General understood. 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 


203 


He placed one hand on my head, like a father, 
and turned to the doctor. 

“Can Captain Gregory be moved?” he asked 
crisply. 

“Yes,” hesitated the surgeon, who really was a 
good fellow according to his lights, “if he is 
handled carefully.” 

“Sergeant Tucker will see to that,” said Gen¬ 
eral Washington, and with another word of 
cheer he left me. 

But how different everything seemed after his 
visit! My blood began to course more warmly 
through my veins, and the sun seemed to shine 
more brightly. 

My General had come to see me—he had 
praised me—and I was going home! One has 
only to be very ill and very downhearted to know 
what such things mean. 

An old family carriage, which had been used 
to convey ammunition from Princeton, was fixed 
up for my conveyance with Job’s horse and Star 
Face hitched to it. 

At first it seemed that my bones would fall 
apart with the jolting; but a mattress had been 
placed in it, and as we receded from the hospital 
and Doctor Sawell, I began to gain in strength 
and spirit. Deprived of medicines and bleed¬ 
ing I soon had such a surprising appetite that 


204 


JACK GREGORY 


Byington, who was also with us, declared that 
we left a dearth of poultry and eggs wherever the 
creaking wheels of my carriage were heard. 
The pure air and cheerful companionship was 
working marvels in renewing my strength. 

We had to go a roundabout road, avoiding 
New York, to reach Connecticut, but the delay 
while it irked us also gave me time to gain 
a little weight and make me more presentable. 
I was almost like my old self when at last we 
drove into Norwalk and down the main street. 
Several of my old friends and neighbors recog¬ 
nized me and hastened forward to grip me by the 
hand. And when we finally drove into the yard 
at home, I was greeted by my mother and sister 
like one restored from the dead. They made a 
great fuss over me and treated me like a hero. 

Father stood back smiling and not saying 
much after the first firm handclasp. But I no¬ 
ticed that he placed an extra cushion in his own 
favorite oaken chair, and insisted on my occu¬ 
pying it. 

Then after I had rested a bit how our tongues 
buzzed! I wanted to know all about Norwalk 
folks, and the family wanted to know all about 
my doings in the war. I was disposed, like most 
returned soldiers, to make little of my own doings 
—there was little to talk about anyway—but I 
had brought a sounding brass and tinkling cym- 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 


205 


bal back in the shape of Job Tucker. He tried 
to make them believe that I had won the war of 
the Revolution thus far, with the aid of Wash¬ 
ington ! 

He embellished our first trip to Trenton with 
many high lights, and had me killing ten of 
Rahl’s men before we swam the river, with our 
horses. He chose to forget the ferryboat totally! 
Then as a climax he described Washington’s visit 
to me in the hospital, largely from hearsay, as 
Job wasn’t present. 

I wriggled and squirmed as he proceeded, but 
finally ended by lying back in the big chair and 
laughing loudly. 

“What an infernal liar you are, Job!” I 
remonstrated. 

“Why—didn’t General Washington come to 
see you?” Mary asked. 

“Yes—but—” 

“Then there are no buts about it!” she declared 
emphatically. And she left the room convinced 
that all the rest of Job’s yarn was true! 

Soon after our arrival in Norwalk, Job took 
up the work on the farm and showed no disposi¬ 
tion to leave it. He settled down as though he 
intended to stay for an indefinite time, and now 
repeated his interminable war yarns to Matilda. 

I was sitting on our porch in father’s big oaken 
chair when I heard a row going on in the kitchen, 


206 JACK GREGORY 

and Job came bursting out, abashed and in con¬ 
fusion. 

“Tilda,” he cried, “I thought you loved me!” 

“Git eout!” she answered emphatically. “I 
loves heroes, not fellers that hang back and shirk 
their job.” 

“Darn it!” swore Job, rubbing his rumpled 
hair that looked suspiciously as though it had 
been pulled, “you might give a feller somethin’ to 
be hopin’ for.” 

“Go back,” we heard her say, “and do some¬ 
thin’ better’n to brag about how you stole 
chickens to feed Captain Gregory!” 

By this I saw that Job had got on the wrong 
tack in trying to sail into Matilda’s affections. 
It had, however, the effect that the next day he 
took his leave to report to General Parsons for 
duty. 

There were many friendly calls from those I 
had formerly known; and as I knew about every¬ 
body in town, the calls were numerous. Among 
them was the beaming Jean Jauhaux. I sent 
greetings to my old master, but had not gained 
sufficient strength to visit him. I learned that 
he was ill and failing fast. 

It was a fortnight after I had reached home 
before I recovered strength to visit Mr. Dickin¬ 
son. The distance was only half a mile, and I 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 


207 


walked it slowly in order to regain the use of 
my legs. 

I found him seated in his big chair before the 
blaze of his hearthstone. When I went to him 
with extended hands, his face lit up with a smile 
as spiritual as I had ever seen on a human coun¬ 
tenance. It was as though a radiance of the 
soul light was shining through the earthly clay 
from within. He led me to talk of my army 
life and of Washington as I had seen him in 
camp and battle. 

“He is ordained of God,” he said “to build the 
fabric of a mighty nation of free men.” 

At parting he gave me his blessing in simple 
words: “May God prosper and bless you in 
right doing and right thinking, John!” 

As I went out from his presence I felt as 
though the very air, was fragrant with his saint¬ 
liness. I never saw him again in life. Before 
the coming of another summer he had passed 
away. But the memory of the “Reverend Moses 
Dickinson, late pastor of the First Church of 
Christ in Norwalk” (to quote a portion of the 
epitaph on the ancient stone in the churchyard) 
rests upon his townspeople like a benediction. 

As I plodded my way slowly back home, that 
day, I went by the road that led past Emily 
Hoyt’s house. I had asked Mary about Emily, 


208 


JACK GREGORY, 


the first chance after reaching home, but Mary 
for some reason was still provokingly evasive 
with her replies. She did tell me, however, that 
Emily was unhappy. Her father was dead, 
and her mother, who had been an invalid for 
some time, was almost a Tory. 

Mary went on to say that though Mr. Hoyt 
had been reputed well off, yet in settling his es¬ 
tate after his death, Edward Holly—his former 
partner and the executor of the estate—declared 
that there was not enough to pay his debts. Not¬ 
withstanding this, Mr. Holly was urging both 
her and her mother to make their home with him; 
and had proposed that Emily marry Bob Learn¬ 
ing. 

“Some think it very nice in him,” she said, “but 
there are those who believe that he has pillaged 
the estate.” 

Then turning to me she said, running her knit¬ 
ting needle deep into her hair, “If you care for 
Emily, you had better lose no time in telling her 
so.” 

“I have never said I cared for her,” I replied 
evasively, “and I don’t think she cares anything 
for me.” 

“Oh well,” said Mary, puckering her mouth 
and sticking out her chin; “actions speak louder 
than words, and if you want that old Holly to 
have his way, don’t do anything.” 


A CHANGE OF SCENE 


209 


“Why, I hardly know which side she is on,” I 
lied for I had no doubt. 

“Neither did you let her know which side you 
were on, when you were here,” Mary reminded 
me mischievously. “You have a tongue in 
your head, haven’t you?” 

It was plain that while my sister might ap¬ 
prove of me as a soldier, she didn’t think much 
of me as a ladies’ man. 

I was pondering all these things today as I 
walked slowly on, pausing here and there for 
breath. I wanted to see Emily, and yet my 
heart sank within me as I neared her home. 
OBut I blamed my own physical weakness for 
this. 

“What possible interest will Emily Hoyt have 
in a poor, broken-down old soldier like me?” I 
asked myself. 

As if in answer, and before I reached her 
gate, Emily herself appeared coming to greet 
me with a smile of welcome. 

“I heard you were home,” she said, after I 
had told her clumsily how glad I was to see her. 
“I would have paid the first call, even though 
improper,” she continued, “but for the fact that 
I have had to stay close by my mother’s bedside.” 

“How is she?” I asked, still drinking in the 
picture of the lovely girl before me with my eyes; 
for indeed she was good to look upon. 


210 


JACK GREGORY 


“She is very weak,” answered Emily sadly, 
“and I am afraid will not be with me much 
longer. Just now she is asleep. But come, you 
look tired. Sit upon the porch steps a moment 
while I get you a glass of milk.” 

And without waiting for my reply she con¬ 
ducted me to the nearest step and darted into 
the house. When she came back she brought 
some biscuit and milk on a tray and placed them 
on the step before me, then re-entered the house. 

When she reappeared it was to bring to me a 
bunch of home-grown roses and held them out to 
me with downcast eyes. 

“I misjudged you, Jack, when you were at 
home the last time, and I was wrong in question¬ 
ing your patriotism! For a fact I never doubted 
it.” And then blushing as she added, “But I 
wanted you to explain—some things—that puz¬ 
zled—and—worried me.” 

I sprang up overturning tray and milk and 
took both her hands in mine. 

“I was to blame for not trusting you,” I 
replied. “It gave me a sore heart for many a 
day. But what do you mean by the roses you 
have brought me?” I asked with fear and hope 
struggling within my breast. 

Before she could reply the gate creaked and 
down the walk came Mr. Holly and Bob Learn¬ 
ing. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE STOKM BREAKS ON NORWALK 

“T X 7 HAT are you doing here, Jack 
%/%/ Gregory?” asked Bob crossly, his 
T V eyes taking in the upturned tray 
and the roses. 

“I do not recognize your right to inquire,” 
I answered coldly. “That is for Miss Hoyt to 
ask.” 

And I took up the bunch of roses, and bowed 
to her to take charge of the situation. I did 
not relish a quarrel in her presence. She sensed 
the moment at once. 

“Come, come, Bob,” she said coaxingly, “that 
is no way to greet an old neighbor and a brave 
soldier! Mr. Holly, have you met my friend 
Captain Gregory?” 

There was ever so slight an emphasis on the 
words, “my friend,” and Mr. Holly had to be po¬ 
lite, whatever his private feelings. He took the 
tips of my three fingers, and said he had learned 
that I had served gallantly under Washington. 

“Served gallantly!” sneered Bob, determined 

to provoke a quarrel, especially since he saw 
211 


212 


JACK GREGORY, 


I was too weak to defend myself. “He was a 
sneaking spy at Boston. I could tell you- 

“For shame, Bob!” interrupted Emily Hoyt; 
and before the angry flash of her eye he stopped 
with a muttered apology to her. 

It was in my own breast to retort hotly that 
he himself had been constantly spying against his 
country instead of for it; and that he had hired 
murderers to track me. But I am proud to say 
that I never uttered a word of all this. Instead, 
gravely saluting Emily and bidding good day to 
Mr. Holly, I turned and went out the gate. 

Bob Learning—the cur—I did not so much as 
notice. I left him glaring. 

I went down the street in a rebellious mood. 
Why had she given me the roses if she did not 
care for me? By what right, I jealously quer¬ 
ied, did Bob assume such an air of ownership 
if she had not encouraged him? Well, I should 
soon find out! 

Absorbed in my own bitter thoughts, I nearly 
bumped into a soldier further up the town. It 
was my old friend Steve Betts; he was on France 
Street examining the ledge of rocks that rises 
above it. 

“Hullo, Lieutenant!” I said, “what are you 
doing here?” 

“I am Captain now,” he explained, “and have 
been assigned to duty for the defense of this 



THE STORM BREAKS ON NORWALK 213 


place. What do you think of that,” pointing 
to the upper ledge, “for a place to make a fight?” 

“Fine!” I replied, “if the British should 
happen to attack us here.” 

“Happen!” he repeated. “There will he fight¬ 
ing here sooner than you expect, or I miss my 
guess! A few cannon up there would command 
the whole town. I have heard that Tryon threat¬ 
ens to burn this place, as an example to the 
rebels in New England.” 

“Burning a town is a poor way to make war,” 
I replied; “but it isn’t the British we have to fear 
so much as the Tories. Did you hear about their 
capturing one of our officers who came to see his 
sick wife and sending him to the prison hulks? 
And that they captured a minister and his con¬ 
gregation? And now one of them has located 
me.” 

“Yes, and it is pretty tough on our folks,” 
admitted Steve, “and I have heard that snake-in- 
the-grass Bob Learning planned the affair. I 
have got a rod in pickle for him; but I don’t be¬ 
lieve in stirring up a hornets’ nest.” 

“Neither do I,” I replied, “unless they come 
out and sting, then I believe in slapping back.” 

The position of our army at that time, at Mid- 
dlebrook, New Jersey, and its strong posts on 
the highlands of the Hudson, though annoying 
to the enemy, was not without its weakness. 


214 


JACK GREGORY 


Commanding the ocean and navigable rivers with 
their fleet, the British could make quick descent 
upon distant points; and the coast of New Eng¬ 
land was especially exposed. Our town only 
fourteen miles from Long Island offered a shin¬ 
ing target. 

Though Washington knew that the British 
were preparing an expedition to draw him from 
his stronghold, he did not know where the blow 
would fall. 

The blow, as Steve Betts had foreseen, fell on 
Norwalk, and it was not many weeks in coming. 

On Wednesday, July 8th, while at work with 
father in the haying field, for by that time I was 
nearly myself again, a horseman rode up exclaim¬ 
ing that Fairfield—the adjoining town—had 
been burned by the British. 

“Our turn will come next!” I said to father. 

First finishing out his swath and hanging his 
scythe on a limb, father said, “John, we must get 
our defenseless ones to a place of safety and then 
our goods and cattle. That will leave our hands 
free to fight.” 

As we were leaving our work Jim Saunders, 
a Tory neighbor who had a son in the British 
army, and thought that that would insure the 
safety of his property, met us saying, “Rather 
late to get in your harvest, neighbor. I hear that 


THE STORM BREAKS ON NORWALK 215 


you are going to catch it for your wicked dis¬ 
loyalty !” 

Father looked him in the face sternly without 
a word, but afterwards said, quoting from Holy 
Writ, “I was dumb with silence. I held my 
peace even from good.” 

We sent a general alarm by every swift-footed 
boy we met, and then at once began the removal 
of our goods to a place of safety in the woods; 
and in the selection of a hiding place I had .the 
help of Winnake. 

On Thursday, before night, temporary shel¬ 
ters of logs roofed with blankets, sheets and quilts 
were improvised. 

“I’ve got to find Mary and Miss Hoyt,” I 
said to father, “You and a couple of boys can 
finish up and help the women and see to the 
cattle.” 

Mounting Star Face, accompanied by Win¬ 
nake, I rode to the village. Here I learned from 
Captain Betts that he had erected a stone barri¬ 
cade on France Street and had got an iron can¬ 
non on the rocks above. 

At the town house, where Steve had made his 
headquarters, I met Byington and told him about 
Mary’s absence and our place of refuge in the 
woods. And as we went towards the Hoyt house 
as the most likely place in which to find her and 


216 


JACK GREGORY, 


Emily, we met Mary tripping coolly towards 
home. 

“Don’t you know, Mary, that the British are 
coming?” I said reprovingly. 

“Yes,” she replied, “but I couldn’t leave Em¬ 
ily ; she is broken down with grief in the death of 
her mother; she died suddenly last night, and 
old Holly’s been bothering her again. He’s de¬ 
termined she shall go to his house.” 

“Where is she now?” I demanded, for I was 
unaccountably alarmed. 

“She’s gone to old Commodore Cannon’s 
house. He sent his housekeeper for her; he 
knows Tryon and has entertained him many 
times, and I guess thinks that his house is safe.” 

Many of our people were still getting their 
goods in hiding, but some hopeful that it was 
“only a scare,” had not begun to remove them. I 
rode about the town urging those who had not 
done so to flee to places of safety with their goods 
and helpless ones. 

At the house of a neighbor, William St. John, 
I found his wife calmly preparing her baking. 

“Good morning!” I greeted, “Do you know 
that the British vessels have been seen off the 
harbor in the Sound?” 

“Yes, yes!” she said taking her dough from a 
pan to knead it, “but I thought I might get my 


THE STORM BREAKS ON NORWALK 217 


baking done before they got here; bread will 
come in handy.” 

Just then the housekeeper of Tom Belden’s 
house, with her apron over her head, came in 
breathless with excitement and running. “The 
British are coming!” she said, “Are you going to 
stay?” 

“No,” said Mrs. St. John, wiping the dough 
from her hands, “but I hate to waste this dough,” 
adding, “are you going, Molly?” 

“No, I am going to stay and save our house; 
the British shan’t burn it!” 

“I guess they will,” I said, “Tom Belden is in 
the Continental army. I don’t think they will 
s pare his house.” 

“They shan't burn it!” she declared, stamp¬ 
ing her foot. “When Tryon was Governor he 
stopped at our house and I cooked a good dinner 
for him and his servants, and Mr. Belden took 
care of his horses himself. Tryon doesn’t know 
that he is in our army and I am going to see him 
and tell him we are his friends, all for the govern¬ 
ment.” 

“Won’t that be lying, Molly?” said Mrs. St. 
John. 

“I don’t care if it is! I am a good Christian, 
I hope, but I guess the Lord will overlook the 
lie if I save our house!” 


218 


JACK GREGORY 


“Well, Molly,” said Mrs. St. John, “better 
take my dough; I hate to waste it!” 

When we were leaving I saw Betty with the 
dough and some of the half-burned oven wood, 
running to the Belden house. 

At Tom Benedict’s I found some of our sol¬ 
diers drinking the wine and cider that he had set 
out at his doorway for them. 

“Hadn’t you better leave, like the rest of your 
neighbors, Mr. Benedict?” I said, pointing to 
hurrying groups of people. 

“Oh, I guess not,” he coolly answered. “Like 
as not it is only a scare.” 

“They will come!” I protested, “and you had 
better get your goods out and yourself too!” 

“My wife has gone,” he said, “but I am not 
well enough to run, and if they find me sick in 
bed I don’t think they will take me; especially if 
I set out plenty of cider and wine to drink.” 

Seeing that it was useless to argue I was leav¬ 
ing, when he said with a grim wink: “An ounce 
of strategy is worth a pound of fight any time. 
Jack.” 

I had no word from Emily though I heard 
again that she was in care of Commodore Can¬ 
non’s housekeeper and did not care to leave. 
This message, however, came from the house¬ 
keeper and not from Emily herself. 

It was late on Saturday when more definite 


THE STORM BREAKS ON NORWALK 219 


alarm of an attack on Norwalk came. Then a 
boy who had been at work near the Sound, came 
running through the village shouting: “The 
British have come!” Then three guns—the sig¬ 
nal agreed upon—confirmed the tidings. 

From a tree on the hill could be seen a convoy 
of sloops and numerous boats landing troops on 
both sides of the harbor, at Fitch Point and the 
Old Well landing. The invaders had surely 
come! 

The night that followed was an anxious one. 
I had received no further tidings from Emily and 
reproached myself for not having gone to the 
Cannon house before and tried to bring her from 
threatened danger. 

At the Town House I found Captain Betts 
busy getting shot and iron scraps to the rocks for 
his four-pounder. 

Going over to Colonel Thomas Fitch’s house, 
I found him still at home. 

“Aren’t you going to get away?” I asked. 
“Won’t they burn you out?” 

“I don’t think they will,” he replied, “my fa¬ 
ther was colonial Governor of Connecticut, and 
I was a Colonel under the British in the French 
and Indian War. And do you know,” he added, 
smiling, “that they wrote that jingle known as 
‘Yankee Doodle’ in derision of the appearance 
of me and my men in homespun? My father 


220 


JACK GREGORY. 


built this house and I don’t think they will burn 
it down over his son’s head.” 

And they didn’t! 

We had thrown out skirmishers on both sides 
of the river to hinder the march of Tryon’s army 
of two thousand five hundred well-equipped and 
disciplined soldiers. But there was little doubt 
in my mind what the outcome would be. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE BURNING OF NORWALK 

I T being confirmed that the enemy had begun 
landing troops on each side of the river, I 
mounted Star Face and rode to the Cannon 
dwelling. 

I knocked, and then impatiently repeated it 
twice again, when a black maid with gleaming 
teeth smilingly answered my noisy call. 

“Is Miss Hoyt here?” I questioned sharply. 
She shook her head, then to quicken her mem¬ 
ory I put half a crown into her hand, when she 
more graciously replied: “I will see de house¬ 
keeper, but I thinks she went off with de other 
white folks.” 

In a moment the sharp-visaged housekeeper 
came. 

“Is Miss Hoyt here?” 

“No, sir,” she replied fingering some keys 
hanging from her belt; “she went away with my 
master’s folks.” 

“Can you tell me where they went?” 

“No,” she replied suavely; “gentle folks don’t 
tell their servants their business unless it con¬ 
cerns them.” 

m 


222 


JACK GREGORY 


“Can’t you make a guess for me?” I coaxed, 
with a crown piece in my hand. 

“Oh yes,” she said with a vinegar-like smile; 
and waiting until the money had reached her 
own hand added, “I guess they have gone to 
Stamford.” 

“Had you not better get away from here?” 
I suggested; “the British very likely will burn 
you out.” 

“They won’t,” she affirmed sharply. “We 
have a friend, Mr. Holly, that will get protec¬ 
tion for the house; and I am the housekeeper 
and can’t leave.” 

Though forced to believe that Emily Hoyt 
had gone to a place of safety with her relatives, 
I yet had an inexplicable fear about her. 

It was twilight when I got back to the Town 
House where we made our headquarters. 

“Here’s Captain Gregory!” said Steve. 
“How do things look, Jack?” 

“Pretty bad,” I replied, “so far as success¬ 
fully defending this town is concerned, for I 
judge the enemy have full two thousand men 
or over. What can we expect to do to resist 
them?” 

“Not much,” assented Steve, “but Dan Sher¬ 
man here has just been saying that he has got 
word from Quartermaster-General Trumbull 
that a goodly number of militia were on their 


THE BURNING OF NORWALK 


223 


way from New Haven, and New London and 
other places to help us.” 

It was then agreed that if there was the slight-, 
est chance of their arrival in season, our policy as 
well as our duty was to hinder the enemy all we 
could. 

“We’ve got to risk it,” replied Captain Betts, 
with the hopefulness of a soldier. 

Sunday morning came with prospects of a 
warm fair day, and with a little more heat than 
was comfortable. For defense there were Cap¬ 
tain Betts’s regulars of about fifty men, fifty or 
more militia, and volunteers to the number of 
possibly fifty more; a pretty slim force with 
which to contend against an army. The pros¬ 
pects looked discouraging to even a seasoned sol¬ 
dier. But from the beginning of the war, our 
people believing in an overruling Providence had 
often achieved seeming impossibilities. 

The old iron four-pounder was in a position on 
the elevated ragged ledge commanding France 
Street and a good portion of the town. It was 
a strong defensive position at the point where 
the enemy would naturally concentrate. 

Having reached an understanding with Cap¬ 
tain Betts as to our mutual work, I rode down 
towards the Old Well landing again. I met our 
men falling back from house to house pursued 
by small parties of the enemy who were laugh- 


224 


JACK GREGORY 


ing and shouting as though on a picnic, rummag¬ 
ing the shops and houses as they came. At 
one place our men ambushed and severely pun¬ 
ished a party of them, but without perceptibly 
staying the incoming tide of invasion. 

Winnake, who up to that time had been with 
me, now suggested that he venture into the en¬ 
emy’s lines and report to me later. He was so 
persistent that I reluctantly consented. 

Concealing my horse and equipments as pre¬ 
senting too good a target for the enemy, I started 
to visit Steve Betts again. Attracted by shouts 
I had turned away and in that instant saw a 
party of redcoats coming up the street. As I 
hastily dodged into a near-by yard I was con¬ 
fronted by a dozen or more Hessians who had 
been ransacking the houses for plunder. 

“Surrender, you damned rebel!” they com¬ 
manded, and, having no other choice I obeyed. 

Under guard they hurried me to Grummond 
Hill, a round-top overlooking the town. 

Tryon and his staff of officers and clerks had 
but recently arrived. It gave me a thrill of 
satisfaction as we went to hear the boom of the 
four-pounder punctuating the sharp crackling 
of rifle fire at the fortress of rocks; for I knew 
that brave Steve Betts was giving the British 
and Hessians a hot reception. Being dressed in 


THE BURNING OF NORWALK 


225 


homespun farmer clothes and without arms, I de¬ 
cided to assume the role of an inoffensive citizen. 

General Tryon was seated on a table, while 
in his rear his men were pitching a tent for his 
convenience near the apex of the hill. It was a 
well-chosen position both for defense and for ob¬ 
servation. 

While waiting I saw Mr. Belden’s house¬ 
keeper come to the General and on bended knees 
make her petition for the safety of her house. 
Then I was summoned before the General. 

“State your name and business,” he said in a 
perfunctory way, scarcely looking up meanwhile 
from a paper he was signing. 

“I am John Gregory, General, a farmer,” I 
answered. Then recognizing him as the man 
that I had once helped from a bog where his 
horse had got mired, when he was Governor, 
I reminded him of it and claimed his protection. 

I believe he was about to grant my request 
and set me free when, to my dismay, Bob Learn¬ 
ing pushed his way to him and, clearing his 
throat to gain his attention, said: “I beg your 
pardon, General, but I want to tell you that this 
man is the notorious John Gregory, a rebel Cap¬ 
tain and a spy. He is one of Washington’s 
secret agents.” 

“What have you to say?” demanded Tryon. 


226 


JACK GREGORY 


“I am not a spy, General,” I replied. “It is 
true I have served under Washington, hut at 
present I am unattached, as I can prove.” 

With deadly coldness Tryon responded: 
“Take this man to a near-by tree and tie him up. 
We will see to him at a more convenient time.” 

I prayed that the convenient time might be 
delayed, for I had little doubt what my fate 
would be. 

The tree to which I was tied was in the rear, 
and in the plain sight of where Tryon was seated. 
It was one of a clump of trees near the eastern 
side of the hill and in its rear was a dense growth 
of underbrush. 

My lashings were very tight. While I was 
writhing with the hurt and making the bonds 
worse by trying to loosen them, and with every 
effort cutting more deeply into my flesh, Bob 
Learning came to inspect and tighten them. 
Having assured himself that I could not get 
away, he turned to me with a scowl saying: 
“How do you like it, my valiant Captain?” 

I made no reply to his mocking jibe, but 
stood calmly in spite of torturing pains, with the 
determination that he should not see me flinch 
or falter. 

As though my demeanor displeased him, he 
said, “You have been so meddlesome in my af- 


THE BURNING OF NORWALK 


227 


fairs, perhaps it will interest you to know that 
Miss Hoyt is at Commodore Cannon's house in 
charge of the housekeeper, who is in my pay; and 
that she is going home with me,” 

His taunting words broke my calm. “You 
villain!” I cried. “I may die, but if you wrong 
that motherless girl, the vengeance of God shall 
overtake you!” 

It heartened me to see him cringe, but as he 
turned away he had his final fling: “You’ve 
been in my way for a good while, Jack Gregory. 
The world is too small for both of us.” 

I let him go without reply. 

I do not know how long I stood in agony of 
soul and body, but it seemed hours to me; for I 
was every moment expecting to be summoned to 
a drumhead courtmartial and a firing squad, 
while Emily was in the hands of a villain or 
perishing in flames! 

I had about given up hope, and though pray¬ 
ing for deliverance had but little faith in its an¬ 
swer, when I heard the call of a robin: It was 
one of Winnake’s signals. 

I waited for it to be repeated for so long a 
time, that I decided it was a real bird-call and 
not Winnake’s. The robin call came again, and 
a hand from behind the tree grasped my arm 
with the whispered caution: “Wait. Don’t 


228 


JACK GREGORY 


stir!” With a keen knife he severed the cords: 
my hands and feet were freed, and I was drawn 
behind the tree into the concealing thickets. I 
was guided to safety almost before realizing that 
I was free. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE RESCUE 

L OSING no time I regained my horse 
and sword. Through paths and by-; 
ways familiar to me since childhood I 
rode, intent only of rescuing Emily, for I had no 
doubt that she was being held against her will 
at the Cannon house. She was in double peril. 

Riding I could catch glimpses of groups of 
British soldiers and Tories setting fires and pil¬ 
laging. Through an open door I saw a soldier 
rip a straw mattress and throw into it a mass of 
live coals from the fire place. At the Benedict 
house there were groups of Hessians singing, 
shouting and drinking from the bowl and tub 
of wine and cider that had been placed at the 
doorway. But thus far they had spared his 
house. 

The invaders in groups were setting fires 
through all the town. Black volumes of smoke 
from which darted tongues of red flames seemed 
to mock the invaders; the crash of falling rafters 
was heard above the ribald songs and shouts of 
the incendiaries. 


229 


280 


JACK GREGORY 


Facing east I saw our meeting-house in flames, 
and then the clang of its bell like a groan rang 
out as its steeple collapsed and fell in smoking 
ruins. 

I drew rein before the Cannon residence. It 
heartened me to see that it was untouched by 
flames. A black servant, lingering by the car¬ 
riage shed where I fastened Star Face cried out 
to me: “The redcoats are around killing every¬ 
body r 

“Have they been here?” 

“No,” he replied, “our cross old stick of a 
housekeeper has locked the doors; she threatened 
to kill me.” And saying this, off he ran as 
though afraid of the house itself. 

I rattled the great lion-head door-knocker and 
demanded entrance! I called loudly, but got no 
answer. 

Then I caught up a log from the wood-pile 
and banged the oaken door to force it. From an 
open window at the upper story came a queru¬ 
lous voice, calling out in treble tones, “Who’s 
there?” 

It was the housekeeper. She knew me well. 

“I have come for Miss Hoyt,” I cried. “Let 
me in!” 

“Lor’ sakes,” she said with pretended humility, 
“I told you once that she’s gone off. Now go 
’way from making a fuss, won’t you?” 


THE RESCUE 


231 


And with this she was about to close the win¬ 
dow when I called out, “Wait a minute!” 

She paused, and I said, “I know Miss Hoyt is 
here.” 

She answered not a word, but slammed the 
window shut. I battered down the door with the 
fire-log and entered the broad hallway. But see¬ 
ing just then a party of redcoats coming up the 
street I got into a small room leading from the 
hall which proved to be the butler’s closet. From 
there I was about to make a run for the broad 
stairway, when I heard the shouts of the soldiers 
and the jingle of broken glass, which told me 
that they were smashing in the windows; and 
then I heard them tramping into the house. 

I peered from a diamond-shaped window into 
a magnificent dining room. It had a big chim¬ 
ney-place—in which a whole sheep could be 
roasted—with a swinging crane on which still 
hung the remains of a quarter of beef over a 
smouldering fire; and a carved oaken mantel 
where glittered brass candlesticks, pewter and 
silver. In the center was a massive dinner table 
on which glistened shining silver, bowls, a tank¬ 
ard with glasses; and over head hung a chandelier 
with its many candles. Remains of a meal were 
still on the polished table, and evidence of a dis¬ 
orderly leave-taking. 

With a shout and clatter the party of redcoats 


232 


JACK GREGORY: 


broke into the room. “Here’s a rum go!” one 
shouted. “Come on!” cried another pocketing 
silver spoons from the table and cramming his 
mouth with food. “This old cock of a rebel, I 
will wager a crown, has some good stuff to 
drink!” cried another starting down the cellar 
way. Then a yell came from below, “We’ve 
found it!” and the invaders went shouting and 
laughing down the cellar stairs. 

I was about to come out of hiding to search 
for Emily, when a fine-looking young fellow in 
the red and glitter of a British officer sauntered 
into the room. 

“Sergeant Butts!” he called. “Ho, Sergeant!” 

There was no answer but a confused sound of 
laughter and shouting from the cellar below. 

“Confound the scamps!” he murmured good- 
naturedly. Then deliberately gathering frag¬ 
ments of broken furniture from the floor, he 
drew out papers from an open drawer and with¬ 
out looking at what they might be, lit a wisp 
from the fireplace and was about to start a fire 
in the midst of the room. 

Leaping into the room I angrily confronted 
him. 

He drew his pistol and was about to shoot 
me down, when with a stick I carried I struck it 
from his hand. His face flamed angrily as he 
cried: 


THE RESCUE 


233 


“What are you doing here, you rebel lout?” 
and at the same time made a motion to his 
sword. I drew mine and faced him. 

When I held the weapon in my hand I felt my 
nerves tighten like steel and a thrill of pleasure 
and confidence: the thrill that a swordsman feels 
who knows his weapon and is confident in his 
skill. As my sword flashed into the light I felt 
an added leap in my veins in the fact that it was 
drawn for the defense of Emily. 

“Ah!” he cried as though not unpleased, “A 
swordsman you! This is a dining room; I’ll 
carve you!” 

I made no other reply to this taunt but to face 
him with my drawn sword. Wishing to deal with 
me single-handed, he made no call to his men. 

Without a word I saluted him formally. We 
crossed swords. Watching his eyes I saw his 
purpose of quickly finishing me. He made a 
skillful lunge in an attempt to run me through. 
I parried and thrust in return slightly wounding 
his shoulder. Then with grating of steel on steel 
we fought. 

I soon saw that I had a skillful adversary, in 
spite of his rash hastiness, and he speedily learned 
my own prowess and grew more cautious. I had 
the longer reach, and my skill equalled if it did 
not surpass his. The light was unfavorable for 
me and as I fought I changed position. In one 


234 


JACK GREGORY 


thing I soon saw that I had the advantage,— 
my wind was better! He tried first one trick of 
swordsmanship and then another; but thanks to 
Jean’s teaching and my practice with Hugh Mer¬ 
cer I met them all successfully. I was still weak 
from my wound and sickness, but yet had 
strength of limb and arm. His breath came 
short and quick; and as though recognizing that 
his only chance was to finish me quickly, he made 
a swift and clever lunge. With a deft motion 
of my hand and wrist, putting all my strength 
in the effort, with a vigorous parry, I sent his 
sword clattering among the broken furniture. 
I had disarmed him, and had him at my mercy. 

Dropping the point of my sword, I waited. 
Then making a motion toward his weapon, I said, 
“Pick it up!” 

He stood for a moment as though surprised, 
and then resumed his sword. I saluted him again 
and stood on guard. 

“No,” he protested, “with my men here it 
would be unfair.” 

Then coming toward me he extended his hand 
saying, “You have beaten me fairly and have 
acted most generously, and I can not take advan¬ 
tage of it, with my men so near.” 

I did not withhold my hand. 

As his men came clattering into the room with 
yells and laughter he said, “Take yourselves into 


THE RESCUE 


235 


another room! I am in conversation with this 
gentleman.” Then turning to me again he said, 
“I am Lieutenant St. Clair of His Majesty’s 
service.” 

“I am John Gregory, sir,” I replied in formal 
acknowledgment. 

“Gregory?” he repeated; “I know fine gentle¬ 
men of that name at home.” 

“I am none of those,” I answered proudly, “I 
am a plain American farmer, and what you’d 
call a rebel!” Then adding, “Pardon me, but I 
am in haste to find a young lady whom I believe 
to be detained in this house; I must find her and 
take her away. That is why I stopped you 
when you were about to fire the house.” 

“Whoever you are,” he said heartily, “you are 
a swordsman and I believe a gentleman; and you 
can command any help from me that I can honor¬ 
ably give. My orders are to burn this house.” 

“It is a shameful thing to do,” I replied, “and 
there are women still in it.” 

“Yes,” he answered, “but it is war and I am 
a soldier—as I suspect you are—and under 
orders that I must not question. I will, however, 
gladly wait until you have rescued the lady.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I said and was about to go 
when he wrote a line and tore it from his note¬ 
book and handed it to me saying, “This may 
help you.” 


236 


JACK GREGORY 


I tucked it into my belt without reading, and 
ran up the stairway calling: “Emily! Miss 
Hoyt! are you here?” And bursting into a 
room was confronted once more by the house¬ 
keeper. 

“What do you want here?” she snarled; “do 
you want to steal or kill?” 

“I want Miss Hoyt,” I replied, “I know she 
is here. They are about to burn this house and 
you must get out, too.” 

“I won’t stir one step until you are gone; I 
am in charge of this house; and Miss Hoyt has 
gone.” 

“You lie!” I cried, “she is here!” And hearing 
a cry in an adjoining room I started for the door. 

The housekeeper barred my way saying, “Get 
out of this house, Mr. Impudence!” 

I thrust her aside, broke open the door, and 
burst into the room. Finding it in darkness I 
threw open a wooden shutter, and there crouch¬ 
ing in a corner was Emily Hoyt. 

“Emily,” I cried, “it is I, Jack Gregory!” 

With a little cry she came to me and I gathered 
her in my arms and carried her downstairs, while 
the old virago stormed in protest. 

St. Clair was at the door. 

“I have rescued this lady from a cruel plight,” 
I said to him. “Will you help me?” 

“With pleasure, sir,” he replied and accom- 


THE RESCUE 


237 


panied me to the street and to my horse. He 
helped Emily to my saddle, assisted in placing 
a blanket to make it more easy to carry her; then 
as I rode away called out, “Good day and good 
luck!” 

For a time not a word was spoken, when Emily 
said, “Oh, Jack, I am so glad you came!” 

“So am I,” I replied. And for the life of me 
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, as we 
rode along. 

When near the Benedict house, which the 
enemy had taken for their wounded, some Tories 
who had been pilfering seized my bridle. 

“Don’t you see,” I cried, “that this lady is ill 
and that I am taking her where she may be cared 
for?” 

“He’s Jack Gregory,” cried one who knew me 
—“a rebel officer!” 

A sergeant hearing this called out, “Arrest 
him!” And then one of his men began to run 
his hands over my person to see if I had any 
other arms than those in sight; but when he was 
about to unbuckle my sword belt, seeing the 
paper that St. Clair had given me, he passed it to 
the sergeant. 

Glancing it over the non-com said doubtingly: 
“He doesn’t look right, but this paper is a safe 
conduct signed by our Adjutant,” and passed it 
back to me. 


238 


JACK GREGORY 


I lost no time in riding on. Through by-ways 
and alley-ways I went toward my home; and 
with a deep breath of mingled sorrow and relief, 
paused before its blackened ruins, silently view¬ 
ing it. 

“My dear girl/’ I said, “I have no home to 
offer you, but if you will help me we will build 
a home of our own.” 

Emily clasped me about the neck with her deli¬ 
cate arm, while her face was lit with blending 
sweetness and timidity—as the hues of morning 
contend and blend to make a perfect day. Then 
she pressed her cheek to mine and softly said: 
“Be good to me, dear Jack, for I have no one 
now but you.” 

That was her surrender and her rescue was 
my courtship. 

When we reached our camping-place in the 
forest, father came out with a look of inquiry 
saying, “How is it, my son?” To which I re¬ 
plied, “Our homes are in ashes, but with the 
ruin a great wealth has come to me; for this dear 
girl has promised to be my wife.” 

To which father replied, “Yes, John; the worth 
of a good woman is above rubies. May God’s 
blessings rest upon you, my dear children!” 


CHAPTER XXVII 

MUTINY IN CAMP 

T HE next few days were busy ones indeed. 
The enemy had returned to Long Island 
and we had little more to dread from 
them; but we had to gather together household 
effects, and rebuild our homes from the ashes. 
All over Norwalk the sound of axe and saw and 
hammer was heard, as the town strove to emerge 
from one day’s vandalism. 

Fortunately we had saved nearly all our own 
furniture and other effects; and we were also 
fortunate in finding a dilapidated log cabin which 
with some labor was soon made homelike. 

It heartened me mightily to see how my dear 
Emily entered into the spirit of the new home¬ 
making and was one of us from the first. If I 
had formerly thought her cold and distant, I 
now found a new Emily who revealed a more 
attractive side every day. 

We were also helped not a little in the unex¬ 
pected arrival of Sergeant Job Tucker. Matilda 
heard his voice first. The way in which she 
dropped everything and rushed out to greet him 

239 


240 


JACK GREGORY 


ought to have left no doubt in his mind as to her 
affections. He came in holding her by the hand 
and with a sheepish look on his face. 

“Captain Jack,” he said; “Matilda thinks the 
army can do without me for a few days, so by 
gosh, I am here to tag.” 

And we were glad of his help. 

That evening when we had gathered at our 
supper table, spread under a big oak, father, 
after the usual blessing, said: “John, what are 
your plans for the future?” 

“After I have helped to make you as comfort¬ 
able as possible here,” I replied, “I must re¬ 
turn to the army.” 

Mother, with a sorrowful look on her face, and 
with a glance towards Emily said, “I was in 
hopes, my son, that you could stay at home.” 

“I am needed at the front,” I replied. “Ser¬ 
geant Tucker brings this message from General 
Knox: ‘General Washington orders that so soon 
as you are able he requires your services. When 
can you report for duty?’ I must return to the 
army!” 

Emily smiled at me bravely but her eyes were 
suspiciously wet. 

Father, bowing his venerable head in assent, 
simply said: “Yes, it is your duty, John; our 
country first of all.” 


MUTINY IN CAMP 


241 


I shall not dwell on my leave-taking, as this 
is mainly a story of my war experiences. But 
it seemed to me, as I rode slowly down the hill 
out of town, as though I were leaving the biggest 
part of me at home. And from the way Job 
turned in his saddle and gulped I know he felt 
the same way. 

When I reached headquarters again, I found 
many duties awaiting me. Both General Knox 
and our Commander were good enough to say 
that they had missed my services. General 
Washington, always sparing of his words, looked 
me over from head to foot, as I stood at atten¬ 
tion and saluted. 

“Sound in wind and limb again. Captain 
Gregory?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” I answered. 

“Good!” he commented. 

My duties now were chiefly as confidential mes¬ 
senger between Washington and his other offi¬ 
cers. I was entrusted with many secrets which, if 
they had ever leaked out, would have seriously 
imperilled our cause. 

The years 1780 and ’81 were dark and distress¬ 
ing; but it was the darkness that precedes the 
dawn. 

The army was in a distressed condition; its 
soldiers were ragged and half-starved, and had 


242 


JACK GREGORY, 


been without pay for many months. It seemed 
that Congress at times was doing its best to 
destroy it. 

The paper money fad possessed their minds. 
“Why tax the people,” it was said, “when with 
a printing-press money can be made by the 
bushel?” It was issued, consequently, until a 
month’s pay of its soldiers would not buy a 
bushel of wheat, and “not worth a continental” 
became an expression for worthlessness. Lafay¬ 
ette said, “No European soldier would suffer the 
tenth part of what the American soldiers suffer. 
It takes citizens to support hunger, nakedness 
and total want of pay.” 

There was a limit, however, to the endurance 
of even American soldiers; they began to revolt. 

In January, 1781 , two Pennsylvania regi¬ 
ments that had received no pay for nearly a year 
demanded back pay and mutinied; they an¬ 
nounced their intention of marching to Phila¬ 
delphia and forcing Congress to do them justice. 

“Captain Gregory,” commanded my chief, “fill 
your saddle-bags and ride without delay to Gen¬ 
eral Wayne and investigate as minutely as prac¬ 
ticable the conditions there, and report to me as 
soon as possible.” 

On my arriving at Wayne’s headquarters, 
which at that time was near Princeton, he in¬ 
formed me of the situation. “The men,” he said, 


MUTINY IN CAMP 


243 


“will listen to no one who proposes that they re¬ 
turn to duty without redress of their wrongs. 
They would probably obey me as quickly as any 
one, but when I remonstrated with them, they 
told me to go about my business; for they wanted 
redress, not talk nor promises.” 

On his advice I entered their camp dressed 
as a private, in order to understand more fully 
the cause and spirit of their revolt. No objec¬ 
tion was made to my presence—or rather little 
notice was taken of me. 

“What is the matter here?” I inquired of a 
soldier in sergeant’s uniform. 

“The matter is,” he replied, “the men are des¬ 
perate. Some of them have families that are suf¬ 
fering for the bare necessities of life. All are 
half-starved and in rags, and Congress will make 
no effort to pay us, or provide for our families.” 

Just then I heard a sound of angry voices and 
contention. 

“What does that mean?” I inquired. 

I was soon answered. Coming towards us was 
a mass of men with two men in their midst. 

They were two British spies, one a British 
sergeant and the other a Tory. These two had 
proposed to them that they desert in a body, 
under promise of more than their back pay in 
gold, and exemption from serving in the British 
army. 


244 


JACK GREGORY 


Something about the Tory looked familiar to 
me, and on coming closer I was amazed to see 
the face of Bob Learning. Almost at the same 
time he recognized me, and a look of something 
like hope came into his hunted face. 

“What are you going to do with them?” I 
inquired of one of the soldiers. 

“We will turn them over to General Wayne 
for trial, and if he don’t hang them we will! We 
are no Benedict Arnolds. We only want de¬ 
cent treatment.” 

They hustled the men before Wayne, who 
ordered them placed in a guardhouse pending in¬ 
vestigation. 

No sooner had the soldiers departed than I ap¬ 
proached the General with a request. 

“May I visit those two prisoners?” I asked. 

“Certainly,” he answered; “do you know 
them?” 

“I know one of them, sir, and I will report 
back to you what I discover.” 

“Very well,” he agreed, scribbling off a brief 
word of permission. 

Armed with this I soon confronted my old- 
time rival and enemy—but under what changed 
conditions! Then I was totally within his power, 
as also was Emily Hoyt. Now his own neck 
was “not worth a continental”—and he knew it. 

“Get me out of this, Jack!” he begged, as soon 


MUTINY IN CAMP 245 

as we were alone. “Get me out of this, and I’ll 
do anything you say.” 

In his abject terror he almost got down on his 
knees to me. 

“You did not seem minded to do me any 
favors, the last time we met,” I reminded him 
sternly. 

“I know it. I was a fool—and I’m glad you 
rescued Emily Hoyt. My God! she might have 
got burned up. Those British did not play me 
fair.” 

“Then why are you still in their pay, and 
sneaking into our lines?” I asked. 

“I am not spying for information,” he asserted 
with an attempt at bravado. “But everybody 
knows that your soldiers are starving to death. 
They are deserting every day. So we are merely 
offering them pay to quit in a body.” 

“Men like you, Bob Learning, are more 
dangerous than an armed regiment. You ought 
to be hung—” 

“For God’s sake, Jack, don’t talk that way!” 
he whined. “Get me off and I’ll tell all I know.” 

“What do you know?” I asked. 

“There’s a big plot brewing—ever since, and 
before, Benedict Arnold quit. It’s big, I tell 
you, and I know all about it!” 

I never trusted Learning, and I did not put 
much confidence in his words now. But still I 


246 


JACK GREGORY 


did not like to stand idly by and see him hung. 
Something within me rebelled at the thought— 
and I am glad now—long after these events 
transpired—that I acted as I did. 

Telling Bob I would report his case back to 
the General, I returned to Wayne and told him 
of the conversation, and also about Bob’s history, 
sparing nothing. 

“H’m!” he said thoughtfully. “The fellow is 
hardly worth saving, and my men will make a 
big fuss. However, his information may be of 
importance. We will see.” 

The result was that Bob got out with a whole 
neck; and did in fact give our army some valuable 
data regarding a plan to undermine the morale 
of our whole army with promises of pardon and 
British gold; though I am still of the opinion 
they would have met with little success. Our 
men might mutiny, but “they were no Benedict 
Arnolds.” 

After gathering all the facts, I reported them 
to my Commander. 

He was deeply affected when I told him of 
their wanting to hang the British spies, exclaim¬ 
ing, “God help our poor men! But what a con¬ 
trast is their conduct under temptation to that 
of Arnold!” 

Shortly after this, terms were offered which 
our men accepted, and they returned to duty 


MUTINY IN CAMP 


247 


without punishment. They really had the sym¬ 
pathy of officers high in command, who felt that 
there were conditions when even mutiny might 
find excuse. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


\ 

MARCHING TO VICTORY 

6im W 1C our General U P t0 

l/l/ now?” said Job Tucker one day; 

▼ V “I do believe he is goin’ to play an¬ 
other Trenton trick on the red-coats!” 

“You know as much as I do,” I replied; “and, 
so far as I can learn, as much as anyone else ex¬ 
cept Washington, and that is, we have crossed 
King’s Ferry and are now on the march towards 
New York; further, deponent saith not.” 

“I guess that de-what you may call him,” 
growled Job, “is a Frenchman; an’ what they 
know, by gosh, ain’t hurtin’ ’em. I hope that we 
are goin’ to give them Britishers at New York a 
gol-darned good lickin’!” 

“That seems to be the general opinion,” I sug¬ 
gested, “so you know as much as the rest of us 
do, and that’s only a guess!” 

The armies of Washington and Rochamheau, 
six thousand men, had broken camp and crossed 
the Hudson and were rapidly marching down the 
river roads. No one but our General-in-Chief 
and Rochambeau, not even the staff officers, knew 

m 


MARCHING TO VICTORY 


249 


our destination; though most of us were content 
to believe that we were to attack the British at 
Staten Island. 

The general situation at that time, briefly 
stated, was as follows: Though malevolent in¬ 
fluences in Congress had almost driven General 
Green from the army, Washington, with unfail¬ 
ing tact, had caused him to be placed in command 
of the Southern army. Under his able general¬ 
ship Cornwallis had been lured into North Caro¬ 
lina and finally eliminated from the game. To 
march back to South Carolina would be a confes¬ 
sion of failure; so Cornwallis moved to Wilming¬ 
ton and from thence to Petersburg, Va., where he 
expected to receive aid from the British fleet. 

Washington at that time had sent Lafayette 
—who was only twenty-three years of age—to 
watch Arnold, who, fresh from his treason, was 
commanding several thousand men nearby. 

Cornwallis, having been outmaneuvered by 
General Green, now sought to retrieve his repu¬ 
tation by capturing Lafayette. “The boy,” he 
proclaimed, “shall not escape me!” But the 
young Marquis, though not a great general, 
proved to be cautious and wary. When the 
British advanced he skillfully retreated, saying 
in a letter to Washington, “My army is not 
strong enough even to be beaten.” 

Cornwallis, in trying to “catch the boy,” was 


250 


JACK GREGORY 


baited on, across James river to Petersburg in 
fruitless pursuit, until he reached the York Pen¬ 
insula where, at Yorktown, he expected aid from 
the British fleet. But the advent of the French 
war craft at this juncture had interrupted 
British control of the water; so, instead of afford¬ 
ing a haven of safety, Yorktown proved to be a 
fatal trap for the British. 

Comprehending all the elements of the game 
of war, our wise Commander had matured a plan 
to snap the trap shut and capture Cornwallis. 

With this in view he planned his march to 
blind Clinton—the British Commander at New 
York—as to his real purpose. 

By rapid marches over familiar roads we 
reached New Brunswick before there was even 
a suspicion that our purpose was not an attack 
on Staten Island. Even then the plan was not 
revealed to our officers. 

“Jerusalem, Captain!” said Job Tucker, “I 
just begin to see a light. Our old general is 
invitin’ the red rat to come out of his cheese and 
bite us; then he will turn suddenly and grab him.” 

“I am glad,” I scoffed, “that you have got it 
all planned out how to do it, Job.” 

“Well,” groaned Job, “I know that my hoss is 
gettin’ darned tired, an’ it’s ’bout time to do some¬ 
thin’, or by Jerusalem crickets, there’ll be a 
fuss!” 


MARCHING TO VICTORY 


251 


Suddenly the command came to turn around 
and march south; then, like Job Tucker, we be¬ 
gan to “see a light.” Back we marched so 
rapidly that though we wondered, we reached 
Philadelphia before the real purpose of our march 
was disclosed. Congress had been told, and what 
Congress knew was no longer a secret. The 
good people of that city had already begun to 
rejoice as though our success was fully achieved. 
They thronged the streets and windows, enthu¬ 
siastically waving hankerchiefs, shouting greet¬ 
ings, and showering flowers on our roughly-clad 
veterans to whom bread and butter would have 
been more welcome. Our soldiers in their rough 
service-stained toggery—but with bright mus¬ 
kets—marching at route step presented a vivid 
contrast to our French allies who followed with 
their fine equipments and brilliant uniforms 
flashing in the sun. 

A march of fifty miles or more would bring 
our army to the headwaters of Chesapeake Bay 
where water transportation awaited us. 

“Captain Gregory,” commanded General 
Knox, who had summoned me to headquarters, 
“You will take these papers and deliver them to 
the transportation officer who is awaiting at the 
headwaters of the Bay, and return with his re¬ 
port to the army on the march, so soon as prac¬ 
ticable. Be vigilant and cautious, for a courier 


252 


JACK GREGORY 


riding over the route was recently assaulted, 
wounded and robbed of his papers.” 

With Sergeant Tucker, Buxton, Winnake, 
and several others for my escort, I began my 
journey that morning. The roads were muddy 
and in places ill-defined. Outside of a few large 
plantations the way was but little populated. 

The second day out I was riding with Win¬ 
nake, in advance of my party, when I stopped at 
a barn-like log building at a cross-road, and in¬ 
quired of a black man, “How far is it to the 
Bay landing?” 

“A right smart distance, sah,” was the answer. 

“How many miles?” I persisted. 

“Don’t know, sah, but a right smart of ’em 
I reckon,” was the unsatisfactory answer. Then 
he volunteered the unasked information, “This is 
the ‘Cross-Road Tavern.’ ” 

“Can I get something to eat here?” I asked. 

Being answered in the affirmative, I dis¬ 
mounted and seating myself in the public room, 
awaited service. 

The room ran across the entire front of the 
building. At the bar, behind which were a negro 
and a white attendant, there lounged a big man 
in the uniform of a French soldier. I was won¬ 
dering about him when he suddenly turned and 
faced me. 

“Come up and have a leetle drink,” he invited. 


MARCHING TO VICTORY 253 

“Thank you,” I answered, “I do not care for 
drink; I have ordered something to eat.” 

“Come and have a drink with me!” he per¬ 
sisted with an ugly frown. 

“Please excuse me,” I answered somewhat 
more tartly, “I do not care for drink.” 

“But,” he said sharply, “I don’t please!” 

Determined to avoid a quarrel, I shook my 
head for reply. 

“You not drink with me? then—” 

“Be quiet,” conciliated the man behind the bar; 
“let the gentleman alone.” 

“Hush up yourself!” savagely ejaculated the 
ruffian, or soldier—if soldier he was—then to me, 
“Now pick this up,” he said, filling a glass with 
liquor, “and say 'damn all vermin who will not 
drink’ and . . .” 

I stood up and took the glass from the bar. 

“Ah ha!” he cried with a grin, “that is better, 
you have concluded to—” 

“Throw this in your impudent face!” I an¬ 
swered, suiting my action to my words. 

There were shouts of warning from those be¬ 
hind the bar, as the ruffian in unmistakable Eng¬ 
lish dialect sputtered “Damn you! I’ll cut your 
heart out!” and swiftly drawing an ugly cavalry 
sabre rushed upon me. 

Thinking that there might be others of his 
party to attack in rear, I quickly stepped back 


254 


JACK GREGORY 


near a corner. The light was poor, and what 
there was of it came from a square, cloth-covered 
aperture which answered for a window and shone 
in my face, a disadvantage which a swordsman 
will recognize. 

However, I met his not unskillful lunge with a 
dexterous parry that almost shook his weapon 
from his hand. With a look of chagrin he rushed 
to close quarters, so I could not use my sword 
again, crying, “Ah ha! I have—!” 

He did not finish, for holding my sword up¬ 
right by the hilt, I struck the peak of his chin 
with all the force of my body back of the blow! 

For an instant he lay like a dead man, and 
then with a gasp opened his eyes, ejaculating, 
“You damned Yankee!” 

“What are you masquerading as a soldier for?” 
I angrily cried, with my foot on his breast. “An¬ 
swer, before I kill you like a dog that you are!” 

He made no reply except to curse, as Job and 
Buxton came to my aid, to whom I commanded: 
“Tie him up! I believe he is a Tory spy who in¬ 
tended to rob and murder me.” 

Later I turned him over to our army. 
Whether he was hanged or shot I do not know; 
but a drum-head courtmartial stands on little 
ceremony, and I can guess his fate, if found 
guilty. 

That afternoon I reached the landing, de- 


MARCHING TO VICTORY 


255 


livered my message, and speedily returned and 
reported to headquarters while the army was on 
the march. 

General Knox was pleased to compliment me 
on my work and was especially satisfied with my 
capture of the spy, whom he believed to be one 
who had robbed a previous courier sent to com¬ 
municate with the transport officer. 

Shortly the army of six thousand troops were 
embarked on transports, and in a few days were 
landed near Yorktown ready for attack. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 

B ANG! whizz z z z! came a shot from the 
British works as we marched forward 
upon the plains of Yorktown to take 
position encircling them. Their left flank rested 
on Wormley Creek, and they were extended 
forming a semicircle until their right rested on 
the York River which was in their rear. 

The French war craft blocking the entrance to 
Chesapeake Bay prevented their escape or re¬ 
ceiving reinforcements. Previous to the advance 
of the army under Washington and Rochambeau, 
Lafayette with a force about equal in numbers to 
that of the foe had planted himself across the 
narrow neck of land formed by the York and 
James rivers at Williamsburg. 

Meanwhile the British commander, without the 
slightest suspicion of the coming of Washing¬ 
ton’s army, had confidently awaited the arrival 
of the British fleet before hazarding battle, and 
thus lost his only chance for escape. 

On the 6th of October, 1781, the Continental 
army of upwards of sixteen thousand had con- 

256 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 257 

centrated and begun to dig a half circle of earth¬ 
works around the position of the enemy; the 
Americans on their left, and the French army 
encircling their right. 

Though the British were entrapped and must 
eventually capitulate, our Commander, realizing 
that in war the unexpected often happens, re¬ 
solved to make sure by forcing a speedy surren¬ 
der. On the 11th the second line of investment 
was opened. 

While our lines were thus forming, I was called 
to Washington’s headquarters for duty. 

“Captain,” said General Knox, “we are un¬ 
certain about the strength of the enemy’s re¬ 
doubts opposite our right. It is information 
much desired before we hazard an assault. Gen¬ 
eral Washington has designated you as the man 
most competent for this service. Can you ob¬ 
tain this information?” 

“I can try, General,” I replied. “When and 
in what way do you wish me to act?” 

“As soon as possible; the rest is left entirely 
to your discretion,” was his reply. 

The task was a difficult one. I could only 
solve the problem by first getting inside the Brit¬ 
ish lines. How was this to be done? I might 
arrange a dramatic desertion; but this had been 
played so many times that it would carry with it 
suspicion that might in itself defeat my purpose. 


258 


JACK GREGORY 


I took counsel with Winnake. He listened 
without a word until I had told him what was ex¬ 
pected of me, and my doubts as to the best way 
of doing it. 

After some thought he said pointing to the 
river, “Water go out every day! We go after 
quahaugs (hard-shell clams).” 

I saw at once that this simple plan would re¬ 
sult in our getting into the British lines and 
thus captured, and would solve a part of the 
problem. But how to get the required infor¬ 
mation and get back again was another thing. 

Divesting myself of arms and officer’s uniform, 
Winnake and I crossed the creeks and landed on 
the flats left bare by the receding tide. Here 
we found clams with which we proceeded to fill 
a bag as we advanced upstream. We were ap¬ 
parently so intent on gathering them that we for¬ 
got caution, until a sharp call accompanied by a 
musket shot arrested our progress. We were 
inside the British lines. We turned to run, but 
the enemy guards got between us and our skiff, 
cutting off our retreat, and compelling us to sur¬ 
render or be shot down. 

We were conducted to one of the very forts 
about which I was instructed to obtain informa¬ 
tion, and questioned by an officer. 

“What were you trying to do?” inquired the 
officer suspiciously. 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 259 

“Getting clams for a chowder,” I replied. 
“We’re in the commissary department, and the 
men were clamoring for clams.” 

“Instead of a chowder,” he said facetiously, 
and answering my pun with another, “you have 
got yourself into a stew.” 

Then he questioned me sharply and I gave him 
truthful replies about the number of our forces 
and other details of little consequence—the 
knowledge of which by our enemy could do us no 
harm. 

The officer, seemingly satisfied at my straight¬ 
forward conduct, said to a sergeant, “Put these 
men under guard and see that they do not 
escape.” 

“Put irons on them?” questioned the sergeant. 

“No,” responded the officer, “they haven’t done 
anything except act like fools, and they cannot 
escape with any proper guard.” 

We passed the two redoubts on our way to 
guard quarters, and I mentally noted the situa¬ 
tion. * 

“My,” I said to the non-com, with assumed 
simplicity, “you have got some heavy guns here!” 

“Oh no,” contradicted the sergeant, “most of 
them are field pieces—a few twenty-pounders; 
only four out of the twenty guns over there are 
heavier.” 

“Twenty guns?” I questioned. 


260 


JACK GREGORY 


“Yes,” he bragged, “and ten on top of that, 
five or six on the flanks besides; don’t you see 
them?” 

“No,” I replied, “where are they?” 

“Come here,” he said, “and I will show you 
what the Yankees may expect, if they are foolish 
enough to attack these redoubts.” 

It was just the information I desired. 

“Gee whiz,” I exclaimed, “I wouldn’t want to 
charge them forts!” and then added, “It is better 
to be a prisoner than to be killed.” 

We were conducted through the redoubts to 
the guard quarters and I noted the arrangements 
for defense as we went. The guard quarters was 
a log hut, evidently constructed hastily, on the 
bluff that looked down on the river. 

Winnake and I helped the guard to make the 
clams we had secured into a chowder for their 
supper and we made a good one—one of the best 
I ever ate. Before long I was in good-humored 
conversation with them, and without effort 
gained more information. They did not appear 
to have the least suspicion that I was other than 
what I seemed—a half-witted yokel serving the 
commissary—and they joked and talked in the 
most unrestrained way about their army. 

By singular good fortune I gained the very 
information required; but to get away with it 
was another matter. 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 261 

We were given a bunk at the rear of the guard 
platform, and I was left to my undisturbed re¬ 
flections, which were far from being pleasant. 

The second relief was on, and the men re¬ 
lieved had begun to snore, when Winnake whis¬ 
pered to me something I did not understand, 
until he showed me a board which he had re¬ 
moved at the bottom of our bunk, and under 
which was the bare ground. 

I saw at once that here was a chance for a 
possible escape by digging out. There was no 
time to lose, for it was just ten o’clock and we 
must do our digging cautiously and swiftly, if 
we expected to succeed. 

The soil was sandy and easy of removal; but 
only one could dig at a time, for one must watch 
the guards who were lying on the platform near 
the door and apparently napping. The soil ex¬ 
cavated was piled up on each side of the tunnel¬ 
like hole we were digging, but as it was fast ac¬ 
cumulating I was fearful of detection should the 
guard come to make sure of our safety. 

One of the boards that we had removed from 
the bank was split and at one end almost formed 
a point, and with this I thought I might prod 
through to the outer bluff and then run the sand 
and earth through this hole down the embank¬ 
ment. 

Stealthily and silently we continued to dig. I 


262 


JACK GREGORY 


was taking my turn at digging with my body 
mostly in the hole when I heard an exclamation 
from one of the guards. But he was only swear¬ 
ing at one of the other guards who had fallen 
asleep and had crowded him. 

The relief again being called, the men from 
outside guard duty came into the quarters. 
While this was going on we made no attempt to 
work, but lay in our bunk apparently asleep and 
snoring. 

The relieved guard talked awhile and said 
something about a sortie that was to be made 
upon our lines. But they soon settled down to 
sleep, and tired out from their day’s work began, 
one after another, to snore. Then I began again 
to dig, while Winnake was on guard snoring as 
loud as prudent to cover any sound I might make. 

Becoming impatient I began probing with all 
my strength at the end of the hole we had dug, 
which was at least six feet or more in length by 
this time. Suddenly the earth gave way, the 
air rushed in, and I could see light beyond. But 
the stone and earth rolling down the embank¬ 
ment outside made a startling sound that seemed 
to my nerves-on-edge like an avalanche! 

“What the dickens^—is that?” asked a guard 
crossly. 

“Oh, just some more of our bluff falling into 
the river,” answered another. “They built this 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 263 


shack so blamed close to the edge that I expect 
we will all tumble in the next big rain.” 

I lay with my heart in my throat, but in a few 
moments all was still and the tunnel completed. 
We began by backing out the hole on our 
stomachs and slowly sliding downward. When 
we reached the bottom of the bluff, we found to 
our consternation that it was nearly high tide. 
We waded into the water to our arm-pits, when 
finding that the tide was going out, we began 
to swim with the current, until we felt safe to 
approach the shore. 

Just then, however, we heard an uproar in the 
camp and surmised that our escape had been dis¬ 
covered. So once more we took to deep water, 
swimming downstream with the current. After 
some minutes of wading and swimming, a counter 
current led me to believe that we had reached the 
water ebbing from Wormley Creek. We made 
for the shore—fortunately with but little noise 
for on reaching it, we heard the measured tread 
of a sentinel. He advanced until within a few 
feet of us then faced about and began to pace in 
an opposite direction. 

It was a close shave. At a sign from the 
Indian I removed my outer garments, without a 
moment’s hesitation, and began to swim for the 
opposite shore. We landed near a large square 
house and though nearly exhausted, moved as 


264 


JACK GREGORY; 


fast as possible toward our camps. It was sun¬ 
rise when I reached headquarters. 

The guard officer, because of my suspicious, 
woe-begone condition, hesitated for a time to 
admit me to an interview with General Knox, 
though the General had given orders that I was 
to be brought to him at once. 

“What has become of your clothes?” inquired 
the orderly who finally conducted us to the office. 

I made no reply. 

Aroused from his morning nap, General Knox 
with an impatient frown on his face, came in. 

I rose and saluted. 

“What are you doing here without proper 
clothes?” he exclaimed. 

“I left them in the river,” I replied. 

Then he recognized me, but he said im¬ 
patiently, “You have failed, I see!” 

“No, General,” I replied quietly, “I am just 
from the enemy’s lines, and am ready to report. 
If you will permit me,” I continued, “to sit down, 
I am exhausted.” 

Speaking a word to an orderly, he listened to 
my report. 

“Well done!” he commented; “the Genera] 
made no mistake in his belief that you would 
succeed.” 

Then the orderly came in with my uniform and 


THE SURRENDER AT YORKTOWN 265 

with dry underclothes, while General Knox went 
to inform my Commander of my arrival. 

I had washed my face and hands of the river 
mud and was clothed when Washington ap¬ 
peared. To him I gave the story of my night’s 
adventures more in detail and, in particular, 
sketched the position of the flanking guns at the 
forts. 

Before I left, a breakfast was brought in, and 
Washington did me the great honor of asking me 
to join him at table. I shall never forget that 
breakfast and the friendly chat so long as I live. 

Proud of my General’s friendship, I returned 
to my quarters, and lying down for a short nap 
did not awake until nearly sundown. 

On the 6th of October, 1781, as I have else¬ 
where said, the first chain of earthworks around 
the enemy had been opened by General Lincoln; 
and five days later the second advanced parallel 
had been opened within three hundred feet of 
their lines. 

On the 12th, the British made a brave but in¬ 
effectual sortie to break through our defenses. 
Our seventy guns opened a destructive fire on 
their works, and compelled them to retire. 

The redoubts on our extreme right, of which I 
had made a special report, were to be attacked. 
The one on the right was to be stormed by a 


266 


JACK GREGORY 


force under Colonel Hamilton, and the other 
nearby at its left by the French. 

It was night when, moving silently forward at 
an agreed signal, we rushed upon the enemy with 
yells and shouts! Taken by surprise, the garri¬ 
son surrendered with little loss to the Americans 
who had stormed it. The French, though 
equally successful in this assault, lost more 
heavily. 

The next day all our guns were turned upon 
the enemy, and under this destructive fire their 
works were crumpled, until, on the 17th, Corn¬ 
wallis hoisted the white flag of surrender. Two 
days later the British army of more than eight 
thousand men marched out to the tune of, “The 
World Turned Upside Down,” and laid down 
their arms upon the plains of Yorktown. 

It was the final battle of the war. The sur¬ 
render of Cornwallis was the most dramatic event 
of those epoch-making times. It put a decisive 
touch to our Commander’s great achievements 
which proclaimed him one of the world’s great 
captains, and gave full recognition to a nation of 
freemen. 


CHAPTER XXX 


AND LAST 

T HE rest of my story is soon told. Though 
the conclusion of peace was delayed for 
months, Yorktown was the last battle of 
the war. When on the 19th of April, 1782, the 
day that completed the eighth year of the war 
for independence, the cessation of hostilities with 
Great Britain was proclaimed, I laid aside the 
uniform of a soldier for that of a farmer, and 
the hardships of camp and battle for the joys of 
peace and home. 

As I made my way back to my own fireside I 
met with many little groups of returning soldiers 
on the way, fraternizing together and being en¬ 
tertained in every village and inn. Many were 
the war yarns spun, and great was the joy of 
these rough-looking veterans at the prospect of 
seeing their home-folks and taking up life for 
themselves again. 

My own party included the faithful Tucker, 
Winnake, Buxton, and half a dozen others picked 
up on the way. 

And when we reached Norwalk what a wel- 
267 


268 


JACK GREGORY 


come awaited us! It seemed as though the whole 
town had turned out to honor us. Many homes 
had been rebuilt, and much of the ravaging of 
fire healed. 

When the detested Tryon and his army sailed 
away, he was accompanied by most of our Tory 
neighbors. Some of them came back later hum¬ 
bly pleading for permission to dwell among us, 
which was not denied. 

My father’s home was in process of rebuild¬ 
ing, and the dear ones still lived in the log cabin. 
But long before I came in sighjt of it they met 
me on the road. Then what a glad welcome 
was there! Tears come into my eyes even now 
as I picture the little group—my white-haired 
father and mother, looking at me with unspeak¬ 
able pride; Mary not a whit behind with her 
praise; and Emily! 

As the dear girl hid her face on my shoulder 
and sobbed out her joy, she said: 

“You are never going to leave me again, dear 
Jack—never again!” 

“No—please God!” I answered—and my 
words were a prayer. 

In June our new house was finished, and on the 
day we moved in there was a double wedding to 
celebrate the occasion—Emily and I; and 
Matilda and her faithful Job! 


AND LAST 


269 


That was our incoming of joy and peace, and 
its auspicious promise has been fulfilled in our 
after lives. 

Winnake has a little house and farm on the 
banks of the Thames River at Mohegan, but he 
loves a wigwam better than a roof, and hunting 
and the free air of the forests better than farm¬ 
ing. Each year when on a hunting trip he visits 
me—sometimes with his sons, who are as great 
friends with my son as are their fathers. He 
wears with pride a silver medal presented by 
“The great chief,” for his services at Yorktown, 
and loves the name of Washington. 

Job Tucker, who lives with Matilda and their 
numerous offspring on his farm on the banks of 
the Connecticut, still tells of his army expe¬ 
riences, and his “doin’s” with Captain Gregory. 

When Washington was inaugurated Presi¬ 
dent of the United States, by his invitation 
through General Knox, my wife and I attended 
his inauguration in New York, and we were 
honored by his never-failing courtesy. 

Later, while President, in passing through 
Norwalk, he held an informal reception at the 
“Old Well Tavern” kept by Uncle Sammy 
White, and my wife and I were invited to stand 
by his side. On that occasion several of our for¬ 
mer Tory neighbors were so far reformed that 
they pressed forward to congratulate him; and 


270 


JACK GREGORY 


foremost among them was Jim Saunders, who 
had taunted us on being late with our harvest. 

When some one, in derision, asked him if he 
had been a patriot, he snarled out the reply: 
“Didn’t the tarnation British burn my house 
down over my head?” No one could dispute 
the fact, and few of us cared to remind him of his 
past. 

As my wife reads these concluding lines with 
Jack, our son, standing by her side, she says: 

“Will our children and those who come after 
them ever realize what it has cost us in labor and 
suffering to give them the liberties they enjoy?” 

And I am questioning, too. 


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